






-Or s « » 7- <6 






: ^°* »*J8|: "W » 



^°^ 



JP 
















6, ' o * x - 




^^ 













: "^o* 



^ c 









£°* 



4 Qo 

^ "* 



\> . i ■ * o ^ ^i> \> . < * o , ^i> 





<> "V * o , % ° * k 0" * * * • * % ° ' * V N 









\> «. < * o * <*-- 

_3^ 



iLfciS Price 75 cents, 
s ^uuKisAL. Price 75 cents. 
ui LABOR, AND OTHER POEMS. Boards. 50 cts. 
THE CHAPEL OF THE HERMITS. Cloth. 50 cents. 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL'S WRITINGS. 

COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Revised, with Additions. 

In two volumes, 16mo. Cloth. Price $1.50. 

SIR LATJNFAL. New Edition. Price 25 cents. 

THE BIGLOW PAPERS. A New Edition. Price 63 cents- 

EDWIN P. WHIPPLE'S WRITINGS. 

ESSAYS AND REVIEWS. 2 Vols. Price $2.00. 

LECTURES ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH LIT- 
ERATURE AND LIFE. Price 63 cents. 

WASHINGTON AND THE REVOLUTION. Price 20 cts- 

- OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES'S WRITINGS. 

POETICAL WORKS. With fine Portrait. Boards. $1.00. 
ASTRiEA. Fancy paper. Price 25 cents. 

GRACE GREENWOOD'S WRITINGS. 

GREENWOOD LEAVES. 1st & 2d Series. $1.25 each. 
POETICAL WORKS. With fine Portrait. Price 75 cents. 
HISTORY OF MY PETS. With six fine Engravings. 

Scarlet cloth. Price 50 cents. 

RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD. With six fine 

Engravings. Scarlet cloth. Price 50 cents. 



ALDERBROOK. By _ 

THE KATHAYAN SLAVE, An. 
1 vol. Price 63 cents. 



HENRY GILES'S WRITINGS. 

LECTURES, ESSAYS, AND MISCELLANEOUS WRIT- 
INGS. 2 Vols. Price $1.50. 

DISCOURSES ON LIFE. Price 75 cents. 



R. H. STODDARD'S WRITINGS. 

POEMS. Cloth. Price 63 cents. 

ADVENTURES IN FAIRY LAND. Just out. 75 cents. 

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL'S WRITINGS. 

POEMS, NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. New Ed. $1.25. 
POSTHUMOUS POEMS. Boards. Price 50 cents. 
MINSTRELSY, ANC. AND MOD. 2 Vols. Boards. $1.50. 

GOETHE'S WRITINGS. 

WILHELM MEISTER. Translated by Thomas Carlyle. 

2 Vols. Price $2.50. 

GOETHE'S FAUST. Translated by Hayward . Price 75 cts. 

MRS. CROSLAND'S WRITINGS. 

LYDIA: A WOMAN'S BOOK. Cloth. 75 cents. 
JENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES, Cloth. $1.00. 



BY TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

ALEXANDER SMITH'S POEMS. 1 vol. 16mo. Cloth. 

Price C3 cents. 

NOTES FROM LIFE. By Henry Taylor, author of 

1 Phillip Tan Artevelde ' 1 vol. 16mo. Cloth. Price 63 cents. 

THALATTA : A Book for the Sea-Side. 1 vol. 16mo. 

Cloth. Price 75 cents. 

OUR VILLAGE. By Mary Russell Mitford. Illustrated. 

2 vols. 16mo. Cloth- Price $2.50. 

CHARLES MACKAY'S POEMS. lVol. Cloth. Price $1.00. 
ROBERT BROWNING'S Poetical Works. 2 Vols. 82.00. 
HENRY ALFORD'S POEMS. Just out. Price 81.25. 
RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES. Poems of Many Years. 

Boards. Price 75 cents. 

CHARLES SPR AGUE. Poetical and Prose Writings. With 

fine Portrait. Boards. Price 75 cents. 

BAYARD TAYLOR. Poems. Cloth. Price 63 cents. 
HENRY T. TUCKERMAN. Poems. Cloth. Price 75 cents. 
JOHN G. SAXE. Poems. With Portrait. Boards, 63 cents. 

Cloth, 75 cents. 

BO WRING'S MATINS AND VESPERS. Price 50 cents. 
REJECTED ADDRESSES. By Horace and James Smith. 

Boards, Price 50 cents. Cloth, 63 cents. 

WARRENIANA. A Companion to the < Rejected Addresses.' 

Price 63 cents. 

MEMORY AND HOPE. A Book of Poems, referring to 

Childhood. Cloth. Price $2.00. 

JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM'S PERSONAL MEMOIRS 

AND RECOLLECTIONS OF EDITORIAL LIFE. With Portrait. 
2 vols. 16mo. Price $1.50. 



A LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED 



VILLAGE LIFE IN EGYPT. By the Author of 'Adven- 

tures in the Lybian Desert.' 2 vols. 16mo. Price Sl-25. 

PALISSY THE POTTER. By the Author of < How to make 

Home Unhealthy ' 2 vols. 16mo. Price $1.50. 

WILLIAM MOUNTFORD. Thorpe: A Quiet English 
Town, and Human Life therein. 16mo. Price $1.00. 

JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. Eleven Weeks in Europe, 

AND WHAT MAY BE SEEN IN THAT TIME. 16mO. Price $1.00 

Mrs. A. C. LOWELL. Thoughts on the Education of 
Girls. Price 25 cents. 

CHARLES SUMNER. Orations and Speeches. 2 Yols. 
Price $2.50. 

GEORGE S. HILLARD. The Dangers and Duties of the 
Mercantile Profession. Pri :e 25 cents. 

HORACE MANN A Few Thoughts for a Young Man. 

Price 25 cents. 

F. W. P. GREENWOOD. Sermons of Consolation. $1.00. 
HEROINES OF THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 75 cts. 

MEMOIR OF THE BUCKMINSTERS, Father and Son. 
By Mrs. Lee. Price $1.25. 

THE SOLITARY OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. By the Author 

of Picciola. Price 50 cents. 

THE BOSTON BOOK. Price $1.25. 

ANGEL-YOICES. Price 38 cents. 

SIR ROGER DE COYERLEY. From the < Spectator.' Price 

75 cents. 

S. T. WALLIS. Spain, her Institutions, Politics, and 
Public Men. Price $1.00. 

RUTH, A New Novel by the Author of 'Mary Barton.' 

Cheap Edition. Price 38 cents. 

LABOR AND LOVE : A Tale of English Life. 50 cents. 

each of the above poems and prose writings, may be had in 
various styles of handsome binding- 



BY TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS. 



GRACE GREENWOOD'S 

HISTORY OF MY PETS. A new and beautiful book, with six fine 
engravings. Square 16mo. Scarlet cloth, 50 cents. 

RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD. 50 cents. 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE'S 

TRUE STORIES FROM HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. With 
engravings. 16mo. Cloth gilt, 75 cents ; cloth, gilt edge, $1.00. 

WONDER-BOOK FOR GIRLS AND BOYS. With Engravings 
1 vol. 16mo. Cloth gilt, 75 cents j cloth, gilt edge, $1.00. 

THE DESERT HOME, or, The Adventures of a Lost 

Family in the Wilderness. By Capt. Mayne Reid. With fine plates, 
$1.00. 

THE BOY HUNTERS. By Capt. Reid. With fine 

plates. Just published. Price 75 cents. 

ADVENTURES IN FAIRY LAND. By R. H. Stod- 
dard. With fine plates. Just out. Price 75 cents. 

AUNT EFFIE'S RHYMES. With beautiful Engravings. 

Just published. 75 cents. 

ELIZA BUCKMINSTER LEE. Florence, The Parish 
Orphan •, and A Sketch of The Village m the Last Century. 1 vol. 
16mo. Cloth, 50 cents ; cloth, gilt edge, 63 cents. 

MRS. SARAH P. DOUGHTY. The Little Child's 

Friend. With illustrations. 1 vol. square 16mo. Cloth, 38 cents. 

MEMOIRS OF A LONDON DOLL. Written by herself. 

Edited by Mrs. Fairstair. "With engravings. 1 vol. square 16mo. Scarlet 
cloth, 50 cents ; gilt edge, 63 cents. 

TALES FROM CATLAND, for Little Kittens. By 

an Old Tabby. With engravings. 1 vol. square 16rno. Scarlet cloth, 
50 cents ; gilt edge, 63 cents. 

THE STORY OF AN APPLE. Illustrated by John 

Gilbert. 1 vol. Square 16ino. Scarlet cloth. Price 50 cents. 



8 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY T1CKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS. 



THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS ; A Companion to 

the 'Memoirs of a London Doll ' With illustrations. 1 vol. square 16mo., 
50 cents. 

JACK HALLIARD. Voyages and Adventures in the 

Arctic Ocean. With Engravings- ]6mo. Cloth, 33 cents. 

S. G. GOODRICH'S 

LAMBERT LILLY'S HISTORY OF THE NEW-ENGLAND 
States. With numerous Engravings. 18mo. Cloth, 38 cts. 

LAMBERT LILLY'S HISTORY OF THE MIDDLE STATES. 
With numerous Engravings, 18mo. Cloth, 38 cents. 

LAMBERT LILLY'S HISTORY of the SOUTHERN STATES : 
Virginia, North and South Carolina, and Georgia. With numerous 
Engravings. 18mo. Cloth, 38 cents. 

LAMBERT LILLY'S HISTORY op the WESTERN STATES, 
With numerous Engravings. 18mo. Cloth, 38 cents. 

LAMBERT LILLY'S STORY OF THE AMERICAN REVO- 
LUTION. W 7 ith numerous Engiavings. 18mo. Cloth, 38 cents. 

THE SAME, in 3 Vols. Red cloth, gilt, $1.88. 

PARLEY'S Short Stories for Long Nights. With 

eight colored Engravings, 16mo. cloth, 50 cents ; uncolored Engravings, 
40 cents. 

PARLEY'S SMALL PICTURE BOOKS. With colored 

Frontispieces, printed covers. l6mo. Eight kinds, assorted. Per gross, 
$9.00. 

THE DUCKS AND THE FROGS. With Engravings 

from Designs by Billings. 13 cents. 

THE INDESTRUCTIBLE BOOKS FOR CHILDREN. 

Printed on strong Cloth, expressly prepared. Four kinds, viz. : Alpha- 
bet — Primer — Spelling Book — Reading Book. Each 25 cents. 

THE FOUR PARTS, Bound in one Cloth volume, 90 Pictures, $1.25. 

|T_X Any book published by Ticknor & Co. will be sent by mail, postage 
free, on receipt of the publication price. 

TiCKNOR & Company's stock of Miscellaneous Books is very complete, and 
they respectfully solicit orders from CITY AND COUNTRY LIBRARIES, 



.Mrrwin 



POEMS. 



BY 



ALEXANDER SMITH. 



BOSTON: a 
TICKJNTOR, REED, AND FIELDS. 

MDCCCLIII. 






Stereotyped by 

HOBART & BOBBINS, 

BOSTON. 



CONTENTS. 



A LIFE-DRAMA . . . . . . - 5 

AN EVENING AT HOME . 161 

LADY BARBARA . . . • • .173 

TO ...... 177 

SONNETS ....... 1S1 



A LIFE-DRAMA. 



SCENE I. 
An Antique Room ; Midnight. 

Walter, 

Reading from a paper on which he has been writing. 

As a wild maiden, with love-drinking eyes, 

Sees in sweet dreams a beaming Youth of Glory, 

And wakes to weep, and ever after sighs 

For that bright vision till her hair is hoary ; 

Even so, alas ! is my life's passion story. 

For Poesy my heart and pulses beat, 

For Poesy my blood runs red and fleet ; 

As Moses' serpent the Egyptians' swallowed, 

One passion eats the rest. My soul is followed 



A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE I. 

By strong ambition to out-roll a lay, 
Whose melody will haunt the world for aye, 
Charming it onward on its golden way. 

[Tears the paper, and paces the room with 
disordered steps. 

0, that my heart was quiet as a grave 
Asleep in moonlight ! 

For, as a torrid sunset boils with gold 

Up to the zenith, fierce within my soul 

A passion burns from basement to the cope. 

Poesy ! Poesy ! I 'd give to thee, 

As passionately, my rich-laden years, 

My bubble pleasures, and my awful joys, 

As Hero gave her trembling sighs to find 

Delicious death on wet Leander's lip. 

Bare, bald and tawdry, as a fingered moth, 

Is my poor life ; but with one smile thou canst 

Clothe me with kingdoms. Wilt thou smile on me ? 

Wilt bid me die for thee ? 0, fair and cold ! 

As well may some wild maiden waste her love 

Upon the calm front of a marble Jove. 

I cannot draw regard of thy great eyes. 

I love thee, Poesy ! Thou art a rock ; 

1, a weak wave, would break on thee and die ! 
There is a deadlier pang than that which beads 
With chilly death-drops the o'er-tortured brow, 
When one has a big heart and feeble hands, — 



SCENE I.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 7 

A heart to hew his name out upon time, 

As on a rock, then in immortalness 

To stand on time as on a pedestal ; 

When hearts beat to this tune, and hands are weak, 

We find our aspirations quenched in tears, 

The tears of impotence, and self-contempt, 

That loathsome weed, up-springing in the heart, 

Like nightshade 'mong the ruins of a shrine ; 

I am so cursed, and wear within my soul 

A pang as fierce as Dives, drowsed with wine, 

Lipping his leman in luxurious dreams ; 

Waked by a fiend in hell ! 

'T is not for me, ye Heavens ! 't is not for me 

To fling a Poem, like a comet, out, 

Far-splendoring the sleepy realms of night. 

I cannot give men glimpses so divine, 

As when, upon a racking night, the wind 

Draws the pale curtains of the vapory clouds, 

And shows those wonderful, mysterious voids, 

Throbbing with stars like pulses. Naught for me 

But to creep quietly into my grave ; 

Or calm and tame the swelling of my heart 

With this foul lie, painted as sweet as truth. 

That " great and small, weakness and strength, are 

naught, 
That each thing being equal in its sphere, 
The May-night glow-worm with its emerald lamp 



8 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE I. 

Is worthy as the mighty moon that drowns 

Continents in her white and silent light." 

This — this were easy to believe, were I 

The planet that doth nightly wash the earth's 

Fair sides with moonlight ; not the shining worm, 

But as I am — beaten, and foiled, and shamed, 

The arrow of my soul which I had shot 

To bring down Fame, dissolved like shaft of mist, 

This painted falsehood, this most damned lie, 

Freezes me like a fiendish human face, 

Its hateful features gathered in a sneer. 

0, let me rend this breathing tent of flesh; 

Uncoop the soul, — fool, fool, 't were still the same, 

'T is the deep soul that 's touched, it bears the wound ; 

And memory doth stick in 't like a knife, 

Keeping it wide forever. [A long pause. 

I am fain 
To feed upon the beauty of the moon ! 

[Opens the casement. 
Sorrowful moon ! seeming so drowned in woe, 
A queen, whom some grand battle-day has left 
Unkingdomed and a widow, while the stars, 
Thy handmaidens, are standing back in awe, 
Gazing in silence on thy mighty grief ! 
All men have loved thee for thy beauty, moon ! 
Adam has turned from Eve's fair face to thine, 
And drank thy beauty with his serene eyes. 



SCENE I.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 9 

Antony once, when seated with his queen, 
Worth all the East, a moment gazed at thee : 
She struck him on the cheek with jealous hand, 
And chiding said, — " Now, by my Egypt's gods, 
That pale and squeamish beauty of the night 
Has had thine eyes too long ; thine eyes are mine ! 
Alack ! there 's sorrow in my Antony's face ! 
Dost think of Eome ? 1 11 make thee, with a kiss, 
Richer than Caesar ! Come, 1 11 crown thy lips."' 

[Another pause, 
How tenderly the moon doth fill the night ! 
Not like the passion that doth fill my soul ; 
It burns within me like an Indian sun. 
A star is trembling on the horizon's verge ; 
That star shall glow and broaden on the night, 
Until it hangs divine and beautiful 
In the proud zenith — 
Might I so broaden on the skies of fame ! 

Fame ! Fame ! Fame ! next grandest word to God ! 

1 seek the look of Fame ! Poor fool ! — so tries 
Some lonely wanderer 'mong the desert sands 
By shouts to gain the notice of the Sphynx, 
Staring right on with calm eternal eyes. 



SCENE II. 

A forest* Walter sleeping beneath a tree. 
Enter Lady with a fawn. 

LADY. 

Halt ! Flora, halt ! This race 
Has danced my ringlets all about my brows, 
And brought my cheeks to bloom. Here will I rest, 
And weave a garland for thy dappled neck. 

[Weaves flowers. 
I look, sweet Flora, in thine innocent eyes, 
And see in them a meaning and a glee 
Fitting this universal summer joy. 
Each leaf upon the trees doth shake with joy, 
With joy the white clouds navigate the blue, 
And, on his painted wings, the butterfly, 
Most splendid masker in this carnival, 
Floats through the air in joy ! Better for man, 
Were he and Nature more familiar friends ! 



3CEXE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 11 

His part is worst that touches this base world. 
Although the ocean's inmost heart be pure, 
Yet the salt fringe that daily licks the shore 
Is gross with sand. On, my sweet Flora, on ! 

[Rises and approaches Walter. 
Ha ! what is this ? A bright and wandered youth, 
Thick in the light of his own beauty, sleeps 
Like young Apollo, in his golden curls ! 
At the oak-roots I Ve seen full many a flower, 
But never one so fair. A lovely youth, 
With dainty cheeks, and ringlets like a girl, 
And slumber-parted lips 't were sweet to kiss ! 
Ye envious lids ! I fain would see his eyes ! 
Jewels so richly cased as those of his 
Must be a sight. So, here 's a well-worn book, 
From which he drinks such joy as doth a pale 
And dim-eyed worker who escapes, in Spring, 
The thousand-streeted and smoke-smothered town, 
And treads a while the breezy hills of health. 

[Lady opens the booh, a slip of paper falls 
out, she reads. 

The fierce exulting worlds, the motes in rays, 
The churlish thistles, scented briers, 

The wind-swept blue-bells on the sunny braes, 
Down to the central fires, 



12 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE H. 

Exist alike in love. Love is a sea, 

Filling all the abysses dim 
Of lornest space, in whose deeps regally 

Suns and their bright broods swim. 

This mighty sea of Love, with wondrous tides, 

Is sternly just to sun and grain ; 
'T is laving at this moment Saturn's sides, — 

'T is in my blood and brain. 

All things have something more than barren use ; 

There is a scent upon the brier, 
A tremulous splendor in the autumn dews, 

Cold morns are fringed with fire ; 

The clodded earth goes up in sweet-breathed flowers ; 

In music dies poor human speech, 
And into beauty blow those hearts of ours, 

When Love is born in each. 

Life is transfigured in the soft and tender 

Light of Love, as a volume dun 
Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathed splendor 

In the declining sun. 



SCENE II.] A LIFE -DRAMA. 13 

Driven from cities by his restless moods, 

In incense glooms and secret nooks, 
A miser o'er his gold — the lover broods 

O'er vague words, earnest looks. 

Oft is he startled on the sweetest lip ; 

Across his midnight sea of mind 
A Thought comes streaming, like a blazing ship 

Upon a mighty wdnd, 

A Terror and a Glory ! Shocked with light, 

His boundless being glares aghast ; 
Then slowly settles down the wonted night, 

All desolate and vast. 

Daisies are white upon the church-yard sod, 
Sweet tears the clouds lean down and give. 

This world is very lovely. 0, my God, 
I thank Thee that I live ! 

Ringed with his flaming guards of many kinds, 
The proud Sun stoops his golden head, 

Gray Eve sobs crazed with grief; to her the winds 
Shriek out, " The Day is dead ! " 



14 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

I gave this beggar Day no alms, this Night 
Has seen nor work accomplished, planned, 

Yet this poor Day shall soon in memory's light 
A summer rainbow stand ! 



There is no evil in this present strife ; 

From the shivering Seal's low moans, 
Up through the shining tiers and ranks of life. 

To stars upon their thrones, 

The seeming ills are Loves in dim disguise ; 

Dark moral knots, that pose the seer, 
If we are lovers, in our wider eyes 

Shall hang, like dew-drops clear. 

Ye are my menials, ye thick-crowding years ! 

Ha ! yet with a triumphant shout 
My spirit shall take captive all the spheres, 

And wring their riches out. 

God ! what a glorious future gleams on me ; 

With nobler senses, nobler peers, 
I '11 wing me through Creation like a bee, 

And taste the gleaming spheres ! 



SCENE H.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 15 

While some are trembling o'er the poison-cup, 
While some grow lean with care, some weep, 

In this luxurious faith I '11 wrap me up, 
As in a robe, and sleep. 

O, 'tis a sleeping Poet ! and his verse 
Sings like the syren-isles. An opulent Soul 
Dropt in my path like a great cup of gold, 
All rich and rough with stories of the gods ! 
Methinks all poets should be gentle, fair, 
And ever young, and ever beautiful, 
I 'd have all Poets to be like to this, — 
Gold-haired and rosy-lipped, to sing of Love. 
Love ! Love ! Old song that Poet ever chanteth, 
Of which the listening world is never weary. 
Soul is a moon, Love is its loveliest phase. 
Alas ! to me this Love will never come 
Till summer days shall visit dark December. 
Woe 's me ! 't is very sad, but 't is my doom 
To hide a ghastly grief within my heart ; 
And then to coin my lying cheek to smiles, 
Sure, smiles become a victim garlanded ! 
Hist ! he awakes 

Walter (awakening). 

Fair lady, in my dream 
Methought I was a weak and lonely bird, 



16 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE H. 

In search of summer wandered on the sea, 

Toiling through mists, drenched by the arrowy rain, 

Struck by the heartless winds : at last, methought 

I came upon an isle in whose sweet air 

I dried my feathers, smoothed my ruffled breast, 

And skimmed delight from off the waving woods. 

Thy coming, lady, reads this dream of mine : 

I am the swallow, thou the summer land. 

LADY. 

Sweet, sweet is flattery to mortal ears, 

And, if I drink thy praise too greedily, 

My fault I '11 match with grosser instances. 

Do not the royal souls that van the world 

Hunger for praises ? Does not the hero burn 

To blow his triumphs in the trumpet's mouth ? 

And do not poets' brows throb feverous 

Till they are cooled with laurels ? Therefore, sir, 

If such dote more on praise than all the wealth 

Of precious-wombed earth and pearled mains, 

Blame not the cheeks of simple maidenhood. 

Fair sir, I am the empress of this wood ! 

The courtier oaks bow in proud homages, 

And shake down o'er my path their golden leaves. 

Queen am I of this green and summer realm. 

This wood I 've entered oft when all in sheen 

The princely Morning walks o'er diamond dews, 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 

And still have lingered, till the vain young Night 
Trembles o'er her own beauty in the sea. 

WALTER. 

And as thou passest some mid-forest glade, 
The simple woodman stands amazed, as if 
An angel flashed by on his gorgeous wings. 

LADY. 

I am thine empress. Who and what art thou ? 

Art thou Sir Bookworm ? Haunter of old tomes, 

Sitting the silent term of stars to watch 

Your own thought passing into beauty, like 

An earnest mother watching the first smile 

Dawning upon her sleeping infant's face, 

Until she cannot see it for her tears ? 

And when the lark, the laureate of the sun, 

Doth climb the east, eager to celebrate 

His monarch's crowning, goeth pale to bed, — 

Art thou such denizen of book-world, pray ? 

WALTER. 

Books written when the soul is at spring-tide, 
When it is laden like a groaning sky 
Before a thunder-storm, are power and gladness, 
And majesty and beauty. They seize the reader 
As tempests seize a ship, and bear him on 
2 



18 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE 'II. 

With a wild joy. Some books are drenched sands, 
On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps, 
Like a wrecked argosy. What power in books ! 
They mingle gloom and splendor, as I Ve oft, 
In thund'rous sunsets, seen the thunder-piles 
Seamed with dull fire and fiercest glory-rents. 
They awe me to my knees, as if I stood 
In presence of a king. They give me teals ; 
Such glorious tears as Eve's fair daughters shed, 
When first they clasped a Son of God, all bright 
With burning plumes and splendors of the sky, 
In zoning heaven of their milky arms. 
How few read books aright ! Most souls are shut 
By sense from grandeur, as a man who snores 
Night-capped and wrapped in blankets to the nose, 
Is shut out from the night, which, like a* sea, 
Breaketh forever on a strand of stars. 
Lady, in book-world have I ever dwelt, 
This book has domed my being like a sky. 

LADY. 

And who was its creator ? 

WALTER. 

He was one 
Who could not help it, for it was his nature 
To blossom into song, as 't is a tree's 
To leaf itself in April. 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 19 

LADY. 

Did he love ? 

WALTER. 

Ay ; and he suffered. — His was not that love 

That comes on men with their beards. His soul was 

rich; 
And this his book unveils it, as the night 
Her panting wealth of stars. The world was cold, 
And he went down like a lone ship at sea ; 
And now the fame that scorned him while he lived 

Waits on him like a menial. 

When the dark dumb Earth 

Lay on her back and watched the shining stars, 

A Soul from its warm body shuddered out 

To the dim air and trembled with the cold ; 

Through the waste air it passed as swift and still 

As a dream passes through the lands of sleep, 

Till at the very gates of spirit-world 

'T was asked by a most worn and earnest shape, 

That seemed to tremble on the coming word, 

About an orphan Poem, and if yet 

A Name was heard on earth. 

LADY. 

'T is very sad, 



20 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

And doth remind me of an old, low strain 

I used to sing in lap of summers dead, 

When I was but a child, and when we played 

Like April sunbeams 'mong the meadow-flowers ; 

Or romped i' the dews with weak complaining lambs ; 

Or sat in circles on the primrose knolls, 

Striving with eager and palm-shaded eyes, 

'Mid shouts and silver laughs, who first should catch 

The lark, a singing speck, go up the blue. 

I '11 sing it to thee ; 't is a song of One — 

(An image slept within his soul's caress, 

Like a sweet thought within a Poet's heart 

Ere it is born in joy and golden words) — 

Of One whose naked soul stood clad in love, 

Like a pale martyr in his shirt of fire. 

I '11 sing it to thee. [Lady sings. 

In winter when the dismal rain 

Comes down in slanting lines, 
And Wind, that grand old harper, smote 

His thunder-harp of pines, 

A Poet sat in his antique room, 

His lamp the valley kinged, 
'Neath dry crusts of dead tongues he found 

Truth, fresh and golden-winged. 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 21 

When violets came and woods were green, 

And larks did skyward dart, 
A Love alit and white did sit 

Like an angel on his heart. 

From his heart he unclasped his love 

Amid the trembling trees, 
And sent it to the Lady Blanche 

On winged poesies. 

The Lady Blanche was saintly fair, 

Nor proud, but meek her look ; 
In her hazel eyes her thoughts lay clear 

As pebbles in a brook. 

Her father's veins ran noble blood, 

His hall rose mid the trees ; 
Like a sunbeam she came and went 

'Mong the white cottages. 

The peasants thanked her with their tears, 
When food and clothes were given, — 

" This is a joy," the Lady said, 
" Saints cannot taste in Heaven ! " 



22 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

They met ■ — the Poet told his love, 
His hopes, despairs, his pains, — 

The Lady with her calm eyes mocked 
The tumult in his veins. 



He passed away — a fierce song leapt 

From cloud of his despair, 
As lightning, like a bright, wild beast 

Leaps from its thunder-lair. 

He poured his frenzy forth in song, — 
Bright heir of tears and praises ! 

Now resteth that unquiet heart 
Beneath the quiet daisies. 

The world is old, — ! very old, — 
The wild winds weep and rave ; 

The world is old, and gray, and cold, 
Let it drop into its grave ! 

Our ears, Sir Bookworm, hunger for thy song. 

WALTER. 

I have a strain of a departed bard ; 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 23 

One who was born too late into this world. 

A mighty day was past, and he saw naught 

But ebbing sunset and the rising stars, — 

Still o'er him rose those melancholy stars ! 

Unknown his childhood, save that he was born 

'Mong woodland waters full of silver breaks ; 

That he grew up 'mong primroses moon-pale 

In the hearts of purple hills ; that he o'er-ran 

Green meadows golden in the level sun, 

A bright-haired child ; and that, when these he left 

To dwell within a monstrous city's heart, 

The trees were gazing up into the sky, 

Their bare arms stretched in prayer for the snows. 

When first we met, his book was six months old, 

And eagerly his name was buzzed abroad ; 

Praises fell thick on him. Men said, " This Dawn 

Will widen to a clear and boundless Day ; 

And when it ripens to a sumptuous west 

With a great sunset 'twill be closed and crowned." 

Lady ! he was as far 'bove common men 

As a sun-steed, wild-eyed and meteor-maned, 

Neighing the reeling stars, is 'bove a hack 

With sluggish veins of mud. More tremulous 

Than the soft star that in the azure East 

Trembles with pity o'er bright bleeding day, 

Was his frail soul ; I dwelt with him for years ; 

I was to him but Labrador to Ind ; 



24 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

His pearls were plentier than my pebble-stones. 

He was the sun, I was that squab — the earth, 

And basked me in his light until he drew 

Flowers from my barren sides. ! he was rich, 

And I rejoiced upon his shore of pearls, 

A weak enamored sea. Once did he say, 

" My Friend ! a Poet must ere long arise, 

And with a regal song sun-crown this age, 

As a saint's head is with a halo crowned ; — 

One, who shall hallow Poetry to God 

And to its own high use, for Poetry is 

The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts ride ; — 

One, who shall fervent grasp the sword of song 

As a stern swordsman grasps his keenest blade, 

To find the quickest passage to the heart. 

A mighty Poet whom this age shall choose 

To be its spokesman to all coming times. 

In the ripe full-blown season of his soul, 

He shall go forward in his spirit's strength, 

And grapple with the questions of all time, 

And wring from them their meanings. As King Saul 

Called up the buried prophet from his grave 

To speak his doom, so shall this Poet-king 

Call up the dead Past from its awful grave 

To tell him of our future. As the air 

Doth sphere the world, so shall his heart of love — 

Loving mankind, not peoples. As the lake 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 25 

Reflects the flower, tree, rock, and bending heaven, 

Shall he reflect our great humanity ; 

And as the young Spring breathes with living breath 

On a dead branch, till it sprouts fragrantly 

Green leaves and sunny flowers, shall he breathe life 

Through every theme he touch, making all Beauty 

And Poetry forever like the stars." 

His words set me on fire ; I cried aloud, 

" Gods ! what a portion to forerun this Soul ! " 

He grasped my hand, — I looked upon his face, — 

A thought struck all the blood into his cheeks, 

Like a strong buffet. His great flashing eyes 

Burned on mine own. He said, " A grim old king, 

Whose blood leapt madly when the trumpets brayed 

To joyous battle 'mid a storm of steeds, 

Won a rich kingdom on a battle-day ; 

But in the sunset he was ebbing fast, 

Ringed by his weeping lords. His left hand held 

His white steed, to the belly splashed with blood, 

That seemed to mourn him with its drooping head ; 

His right, his broken brand ; and in his ear 

His old victorious banners flap the winds. 

He called his faithful herald to his side, — 

4 Go ! tell the dead I come ! ' With a proud smile, 

The warrior with a stab let out his soul, 

Which fled and shrieked through all the other world, 

* Ye dead ! My master comes ! ' And there was pause 



26 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

Till the great shade should enter. Like that herald, 

Walter, I 'd rush across this waiting world 

And cry, ' He comes ! ' " Lady, wilt hear the song ? 

[Sings. 

In the street, the tide of being, how it surges, how it 

rolls ! 
God ! what base ignoble faces ! God. ! what bodies 

wanting souls ! 
'Mid this stream of human being, banked by houses tall 

and grim, 
Pale I stand this shining morrow with a pant for wood- 
lands dim, 
To hear the soft and whispering rain, feel the dewy cool 

of leaves, 
Watch the lightnings dart like swallows round the 

brooding thunder-eaves, 
To lose the sense of whirling streets, 'mong breezy crests 

of hills, 
Skies of larks, and hazy landscapes, with fine threads 

of silver rills, 
Stand with forehead bathed in sunset on a mountain's 

summer crown, 
And look up and watch the shadow of the great night 

coming down ; 
One great life in my myriad veins, in leaves, in flowers, 

in cloudy cars, 
Blowing, underfoot, in clover ; beating, overhead, in stars ! 



SCENE n.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 27 

Once I saw a blissful harvest-moon, but not through 
fore st -leaves ; 

'T was not whitening o'er a country, costly with the 
piled sheaves ; 

Kose not o'er the amorous ocean, trembling round his 
happy isles; 

It came circling large and queenly o'er yon roof of 
smoky tiles, 

And I saw it with such feeling, joy in blood, in heart, in 
brain, 

I would give, to call the affluence of that moment back 
again, 

Europe, with her cities, rivers, hills of prey, sheep- 
sprinkled downs, — 

Ay, an hundred sheaves of sceptres ! Ay, a planet's 
gathered crowns ! 

For with that resplendent harvest-moon, my inmost 
thoughts were shared 

By a bright and shining maiden, hazel-eyed and golden- 
haired ; 

One blest hour we sat together in a lone and silent place, 

O'er us starry tears were trembling on the mighty mid- 
night's face. 

Gradual crept my arm around her, 'gainst my shoulder 
came her head, 

And I could but draw her closer, whilst I tremulously 
said, 



28 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

" Passion as it runs grows purer, loses every tinge of 

clay, 
As from Dawn all red and turbid flows the white trans- 
parent Day, 
And in mingled lives of lovers the array of human ills 
Breaks their gentle course to music, as the stones break 

summer rills." 
" You should give the world," she murmured, " such 

delicious thoughts as these." 
" They are fit to line portmanteaus ; " " Nay," she 

whispered, " Memories." 
And thereat she looked upon me with a smile so full of 

grace, 
All my blood was in a moment glowing in my ardent 

face ! 
Half-blind, I looked up to the host of palpitating 

stars, 
'Gainst my sides my heart was leaping, like a lion 

'gainst his bars, 
For a thought was born within me, and I said within my 

mind, 
" I will risk all in this moment, I will either lose or 

find." 
" Dost thou love me ?" then I whispered; for a minute 

after this, 
I sat and trembled in great blackness — On my lips I 

felt a kiss ; — 



SCENE U.J A LIFE-DRAMA. 29 

Than a rose-leafs touch 't was lighter, — on her face her 

hands she prest, 
And a heaven of tears and blushes was deep buried in 

my breast. 
I could make her faith, my passion, a wide mark for 

scorn and sneers ; 
I could laugh a hollow laughter but for these hot burst- 
ing tears. 
In the strong hand of my frenzy, laws and statutes snapt 

like reeds, 
And furious as a wounded bull I tore at all the creeds ; 
I rushed into the desert, where I stood with hopeless 

eyes, 
Glaring on vast desolations, barren sands, and empty 

skies ! 
Soon, a trembling naked figure, to the earth my face was 

bowed, 
For the curse of God gloomed o'er me like a bursting 

thunder-cloud. 
Kolled away that fearful darkness, past my weakness, 

past my grief, 
Washed with bitter tears I sat full in the sunshine of 

belief. 
Weary eyes are looking eastward, whence the golden 

sun upsprings, 
Cry the young and fervid spirits, clad with ardor as with 



30 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE H. 

"Life and Soul make wretched jangling, they should 

mingle to one Sire, 
As the lovely voices mingle in a holy temple choir. 
! those souls of ours, my brothers ! prisoned now in 

mortal bars, 
Have been riched by growth and travel, by the round of 

all the stars. 
Soul, alas! is unregarded; Brothers! it is closely 

shut: 
All unknown as royal Alfred in the Saxon neat-herd's 

hut, 
In the Dark house of the Body, cooking victuals, light- 
ing fires, 
Swelters on the starry stranger, to our nature's base 

desires. 
From its lips is't any marvel that no revelations 

come ? 
We have wronged it; we do wrong it — 'tis majestically 

dumb ! 
God ! our souls are aproned waiters ! God ! our souls are 

hired slaves : 
Let us hide from Life, my Brothers ! let us hide us in 

our graves. 
O ! why stain our holy childhoods ? Why sell all for 

drinks and meats ? 
Why degrade, like those old mansions, standing in our 

pauper streets, 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 31 

Lodgings once of kings and nobles, silken stirs and 

trumpet's din, 
Now, where crouch 'mong rags and fever, shapes of 

squalor and of sin ? " 
Like a mist this wail surrounds me ; Brothers, hush ! 

the Lord Christ's hands 
Even now are stretched in blessing o'er the sea and o'er 

the lands. 
Sit not like a mourner, Brother ! by the grave of that 

dear Past, 
Throw the Present ! 't is thy servant only when 't is 

overcast, — 
Give battle to the leagued world, if thou 'rt worthy, truly 

brave, 
Thou shalt make the hardest circumstance a helper or a 

slave, 
As when thunder wraps the setting sun, he struggles, 

glows with ire, 
Rifts the gloom with golden furrows, with a hundred 

bursts of fire, 
Melts the black and thund'rous masses to a sphere of 

rosy light, 
Then on edge of glowing heaven smiles in triumph on 

the night. 
JLo ! the song of Earth — a maniac's on a black and 

dreary road — 
Rises up, and swells, and grandeurs, to the loud trium- 
phal ode — 



32 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

Earth casts off a slough of darkness, an eclipse of hell 

and sin, 
In each cycle of her being, as an adder casts her skin ; 
Lo ! I see long blissful ages, when these mammon days 

are done, 
Stretching like a golden evening forward to the setting 

sun. 

He sat one winter 'neath a linden tree 

In my bare orchard : " See, my friend," he said, 

" The stars among the branches hang like fruit, 

So, hopes were thick within me. When I 'm gone 

The world will like a valuator sit 

Upon my soul, and say, c I was a cloud 

That caught its glory from a sunken sun, 

And gradual burned into its native gray.' " 

On an October eve, 't was his last wish 

To see again the mists and golden woods ; 

Upon his death-bed he was lifted up, 

The slumberous sun within the lazy west 

With their last gladness filled his dying eyes. 

No sooner was he hence than critic-worms 

Were swarming on the body of his fame, 

And thus they judged the dead : " This Poet was 

An April tree whose vermeil-loaded boughs 

Promised to Autumn apples juiced and red, 

But never came to fruit." "He is to us 

But a rich odor, — a faint music-swell." 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 33 

" Poet he was not in the larger sense ; 

He could write pearls, but he could never write 

A Poem round and perfect as a star." 

M Politic i' faith. His most judicious act 

Was dying when he did ; the next five years 

Had fingered all the fine dust from his wings, 

And left him poor as we. He died — 't was shrewd ! 

And came with all his youth and unblown hopes 

On the world's heart, and touched it into tears." 

LADY. 

Would'st thou, too, be a poet ? 

WALTER. 

Lady ! ay ! 
A passion has grown up to be a King, 
Ruling my being with as fierce a sway 
As the mad sun the prostrate desert sands, 
And it is that. 

LADY. 

Hast some great cherished theme ? 

WALTER. 

Lovely in God's eyes, where, in barren space, 
Like a rich jewel hangs His universe, 
Unwrinkled as a dew-drop, and as fair, 
3 



34 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE II. 

In my poor eyes, my loved and chosen theme 
Is lovely as the universe in His. 

LADY. 

Wilt write of some young wanton of an isle, 
Whose beauty so enamored hath the sea, 
It clasps it ever in its summer arms, 
And wastes itself away on it in kisses ? 
Or the hot Indes, on whose teeming plains 
The seasons four knit in one flowery band 
Are dancing ever ? Or some older realm ? 

WALTER. 

I will begin in the oldest ; far in God. 
When all the ages, and all suns, and worlds, 
And souls of men and angels, lay in Him 
Like unborn forests in an acorn cup. 

LADY. 

And how wilt thou begin it ? 

WALTER. 

With old words ! 
With the soliloquy with which God broke 
The silence of the dead eternities, 
At which most ancient words, beautiful ! 
With showery tresses like a child from sleep, 



SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 35 

Uprose the splendid-mooned and jewelled night, — 
The loveliest born of God. 



LADY. 

Then your first chorus 
Must be the shoutings of the morning stars ! 
What martial music is to marching men 
Should Song be to Humanity. In song 
The infant ages born and swathed are. 
A beauteous menial to our wants divine, 
A shape celestial tending the dark earth 
With light and silver service like the moon, 
Is Poesy ; ever remember this — 
How wilt thou end it ? 

WALTER. 

With God and Silence ! 
When the great universe subsides in God, 
Even as a moment's foam subsides again 
Upon the wave that bears it. 

LADY. 

Why, thy plan 
Is wide and daring as a comet's spoom ! 
And doubtless 't will contain the tale of earth 
By way of episode or anecdote. 
This precious world which one pale marred face 



36 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE XI. 

Dropt tears upon. This base and beggar world 
To your rich soul ! O ! Mark Antony, 
With a fine scorn, did toss your world away 
For Cleopatra's lips ! — so rich, so poor. 



SCENE III. 

Antique Room. Walter pacing up and down. 

WALTER. 

Thou day beyond to-morrow ! though my life 
Should cease in thee, I 'd dash aside the hours 
That intervene to bring thee quicklier here. 
Again to meet her in the windy woods ! 
When last we met she was as marble, calm : 
I, with thick-beating heart and sight grown dim, 
And leaping pulses and loud-ringing ears, 
And tell-tale blood that rushed into my face, 
And blabbed the love secreted in my heart. 
She must have understood that crimson speech, 
And yet she frowned not. No, she never frowned. 
I think that I am worthy to be loved. 
0, could I lift my heart into her sight, 
As an old mountain lifts its martyr's cairn 
Into the pure sight of the holy heavens ! 



38 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE III. 

Would she but love me, I would live for her ! 

Were she plain Night I 'd pack her with my stars. 

My spirit, Poesy, would be her slave, 

'T would rifle for her ocean's secret hoards, 

And make her rough with pearls. If Death's pale realms 

Contained a gem out-lustring all the world, 

I would adventure there, and bring it her. 

My inmost being dwells upon her words, 

" Wilt trim a verse for me by this night week ? 

Make it as jubilant as marriage bells ; 

Or, if it please you, make it doleful sad 

As bells that knoll a maiden to her grave, 

When the spring earth is sweet in violets, 

And it will fit one heart, yea, as the cry 

Of the lone plover fits a dismal heath." 

I '11 write a tale through which my passion runs, 

Like honeysuckle through a hedge of June. 

/ 

A silent isle on which the love-sick sea 

Dies with faint kisses and a murmured joy. 

In the clear blue the lark hangs like a speck, 

And empties his full heart of music-rain 

O'er sunny slopes, where tender lambkins bleat, 

And new-born rills go laughing to the sea, 

O'er woods that smooth down to the southern shore, 



SCENE III.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 39 

Waving- in green, as the young breezes blow 
O'er the sea sphere all sweet and summer smells. 
Not of these years, but by-gone minstrel times, 
Of shepherd-days in the young world's sunrise, 
Was this warm clime, this quiet land of health, 
By gentle pagans filled, whose red blood ran 
Healthy and cool as milk, — pure, simple men : 
Ah, how unlike the swelterers in towns ! 
Who ne'er can glad their eyes upon the green 
Sunshine-swathed earth ; nor hear the singing rills, 
Nor feel the breezes in their lifted hair. 

A lovely youth, in manhood's very edge, 

Lived 'mong these shepherds and their quiet downs ; 

Tall and blue-eyed, and bright in golden hair, 

With half-shut dreamy eyes, sweet earnest eyes 

That seemed unoccupied with outward things, 

Feeding on something richer ! Strangely, oft, 

A wildered smile lay on his noble lips. 

The sunburnt shepherds stared with awful eyes 

As he went past ; and timid girls upstole, 

With wondering looks, to gaze upon his face, 

And on his cataract of golden curls, 

Then lonely grew, and went into the woods 

To think sweet thoughts, and marvel why they shook 

With heart-beat and with tremors when he came, 

And in the night he filled their dreams with joy. 



40 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE III. 

But there was one among that soft-voiced band 

Who pined away for love of his sweet eyes, 

And died among the roses of the spring. 

When Eve sat in the dew with closed lids, 

Came gentle maidens bearing forest flowers 

To strew upon her green and quiet grave. 

They soothed the dead with love-songs low and sweet ; 

Songs sung of old beneath the purple night, 

Songs heard on earth with heart-beat and a blush, 

Songs heard in heaven by the breathless stars. 

Thought-wrapt, he wandered in the breezy woods 
In which the Summer, like a hermit, dwelt. 
He laid him down by the old haunted springs, 
Up-bubbling 'mid a world of greenery, 
Shut-eyed, and dreaming of the fairest shapes 
That roam the woods ; and when the autumn nights 
Were dark and moonless, to the level sands 
He would betake him, there to hear, o'er-awed, 
The old Sea moaning like a monster pained. 

One day he lay within the pleasant woods 
On bed of flowers edging a fountain's brim, 
And gazed into its heart as if to count 
The veined and lucid pebbles one by one, 
Up-shining richly through the crystal clear. 
Thus lay he many hours, when, lo ! he heard 



SCENE m.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 41 

A maiden singing in the woods alone 

A sad and tender island melody, 

Which made a golden conquest of his soul, 

Bringing a sadness sweeter than delight. 

As nightingale, embowered in vernal leaves, 

Pants out her gladness the luxurious night, 

The moon and stars all hanging on her song, 

She poured her soul in music. When she ceased, 

The charmed woods and breezes silent stood, 

As if all ear to catch her voice again. 

Uprose the dreamer from his couch of flowers, 

W T ith awful expectation in his look, 

And happy tears upon his pallid face, 

With eager steps, as if toward a heaven, 

He onward went, and, lo ! he saw her stand, 

Fairer than Dian, in the forest glade. 

His footsteps startled her, and quick she turned 

Her face, — looks met like swords. He clasped his 

hands, 
And fell upon his knees ; the while there broke 
A sudden splendor o'er his yearning face ; 
'T was a pale prayer in its very self. 
" I know thee, lovely maiden ! " then he cried ; 
" I know thee, and of thee I have been told : 
Been told by all the roses of the vale, 
By hermit streams, by pale sea-setting stars, 
And by the roaring of the storm-tost pines ; 



42 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE III. 

And I have sought for thee upon the hills, 

In dim sweet dreams, on the complacent sea, 

When breathless midnight, with her thousand hearts, 

Beats to the same love-tune as my own heart. 

I 've waited for thee many seasons through, 

Seen many autumns shed their yellow leaves 

O'er the oak-roots, heard many winters moan 

Thorough the leafless forests drearily. 

Now am I joyful, as storm-battered dove 

That finds a perch in the Hesperides, 

For thou art found. Thou, whom I long have sought, 

My other self ! Our blood, our hearts, our souls, 

Shall henceforth mingle in one being, like 

The married colors in the bow of heaven. 

My soul is like a wide and empty fane ; 

Sit thou in 't like a god, maid divine ! 

With worship and religion 't will be filled. 

My soul is empty, lorn, and hungry space ; 

Leap thou into it like a new-born star, 

And 't will o'erflow with splendor and with bliss. 

More music ! music ! music ! maid divine ! 

My hungry senses, like a finch's brood, 

Are all a-gape. O feed them, maid divine ! 

Feed, feed my hungry soul with melodies ! " 

Thus, like a worshipper before a shrine, 

He earnest syllabled, and, rising up, 

He led that lovely stranger tenderly 



SCENE III.] A LIFE-DRA3IA. 43 

Through the green forest toward the burning west. 
He never, by the maidens of the isle 
Nor by the shepherds, was thereafter seen 
'ilong sunrise splendors on the misty hills, 
Or stretched at noon by the old haunted wells, 
Or by the level sands on autumn nights. 

I Ye heard that maidens have been won by song. 

Poesy, fine sprite ! I 'd bless thee more, 

If thou would'st bring that lady's love to me, 
Than immortality in twenty worlds. 

1 'd rather win her than God's youngest star, 

With singing continents and seas of bliss. 

Thou day beyond to-morrow, haste thee on ! 



SCENE IV. 

The Banks of a River. — Walter and the Lady. 

lady. 
The stream of sunsets ? 

WALTER. 

'T is that loveliest stream. 
I 've learned by heart its sweet and devious course 
By frequent tracing, as a lover learns 
The features of his best-beloved's face. 
In memory it runs, a shining thread, 
With sunsets strung upon it thick, like pearls. 
From yonder trees I 've seen the western sky 
All washed with fire, while, in the midst, the sun 
Beat like a pulse, welling at every beat 
A spreading wave of light. Where yonder church 
Stands up to heaven, as if to intercede 
For sinful hamlets scattered at its feet, 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 45 

I saw the dreariest sight. The sun was down, 

And all the west was paved with sullen fire. 

I cried, " Behold ! the barren beach of hell 

At ebb of tide." The ghost of one bright hour 

Comes from its grave and stands before me now. 

'T was at the close of a long summer day, 

As we were sitting on yon grassy slope, 

The sunset hung before us like a dream 

That shakes a demon in his fiery lair; 

The clouds were standing round the setting sun 

Like gaping caves, fantastic pinnacles, 

Citadels throbbing in their own fierce light, 

Tall spires that came and went like spires of flame, 

Cliffs quivering with fire-snow, and peaks 

Of piled gorgeousness, and rocks of fire 

A-tilt and poised, bare beaches, crimson seas, 

All these were huddled in that dreadful west, 

All shook and trembled in unsteadfast light, 

And from the centre blazed the angry sun, 

Stern as the unlashed eye of God a-glare 

O'er evening city with its boom of sin. 

I do remember, as we journeyed home 

(That dreadful sunset burnt into our brains), . 

With what a soothing came the naked moon. 

She, like a swimmer who has found his ground, 

Came rippling up a silver strand of cloud, 

And plunged from the other side into the night. 



46 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SGENB IV. 

I and that friend, the feeder of my soul, 
Did wander up and down these banks for years, 
Talking of blessed hopes and holy faiths, 
How sin and weeping all should pass away 
In the calm sunshine of the earth's old age. 
Breezes are blowing in old Chaucer's verse, 
'T was here we drank them. Here for hours we hung 
O'er the fine pants and trembles of a line. 
Oft, standing on a hill's green head, we felt 
" Breezes of love, and joy, and melody, 
Blow through us, as the winds blow through the sky. 
Oft with our souls in our eyes all day we fed 
On summer landscapes, silver-veined with streams, 
O'er which the air hung silent in its joy ; 
With a great city lying in its smoke, 
A monster sleeping in its own thick breath ; 
And surgy plains of wheat, and ancient woods, 
In the calm evenings cawed by clouds of rooks, 
Acres of moss, and long black strips of firs, 
And sweet cots dropt in green, where children played 
To us unheard, till, gradual, all was lost 
In distance-haze to a blue rim of hills, 
Upon whose heads came down the closing sky. 
Beneath the crescent moon on autumn nights 
We paced its banks with overflowing hearts, 
Discoursing long of great thought-wealthy souls, 
And with what spendthrift hands they scatter wide 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 47 

Their spirit wealth, making mankind their debtors : 
Affluent spirits, dropt from the teeming stars, 
Who come before their time, are starved, and die, 
Like swallows that arrive before the summer. 
Or haply talked of dearer personal themes, 
Blind guesses at each other's after fate ; 
Feeling our leaping hearts, we marvelled oft 
How they should be unleashed, and have free course 
To stretch and strain far down the coming time — 
But in our guesses never was the grave. 

LADY. 

The tale ! the tale ! the tale ! As empty halls 
Gape for a coming pageant, my fond ears 
To take its music are all eager-wide. 

WALTER. 

Within yon grove of beeches is a well, 
I ? ve made a vow to read it only there. 

LADY. 

As I suppose, by way of recompense, 

For quenching thirst on some hot summer day. 

WALTER. 

Memories grow around it thick as flowers. 
That well is loved and haunted by a star. 



48 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

The live-long day her clear and patient eye 

Is open on the soft and bending blue, 

Just where she lost her lover in the morn. 

But with the night the star creeps o'er the trees 

And smiles upon her, and some happy hours 

She holds his image in her crystal heart. 

Beside that well I read the mighty Bard 

Who clad himself with beauty, genius, wealth, 

Then flung himself on his own passion-pyre 

And was consumed. Beside that lucid well 

The whitest lilies grow for many miles. 

'T is said that, 'mong the flowers of perished years, 

A prince wooed here a lady of the land, 

And when with faltering lips he told his love, 

Into her proud face leapt her prouder blood ; 

She struck him blind with scorn, then with an air 

As if she wore the crowns of all the world, 

She swept right on and left hmi in the dew. 

Again he sat at even with his love, 

He sent a song into her haughty ears 

To plead for him ; — she listened, still he sang. 

Tears, drawn by music, were upon her face, 

Till on its trembling close, to which she clung 

Like dying wretch to life, with a low cry 

She flung her arms around him, told her love, 

And how she long had loved him, but had kept 

It in her heart, like one who has a gem 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 4 

And hoards it up in some most secret place, 
While he who owns it seeks it and \vith tears, 
Won by the sw r eet omnipotence of song ! 
He gave her lands ; she paid him with herself. 
Brow-bound with gold she sat, the fairest thing 
Within his sea-washed shores. 

LADY. 

Most fit reward ! 
A poet's love should ever thus be paid. 

WALTER. 

Ha ! Dost thou think so ? 

LADY. 

Yes. The tale ! the tale ! 

WALTER. 

On balcony, all summer roofed with vines, 
A lady half-reclined amid the light, 
Golden and green, soft-showering through the leaves, 
Silent she sat one-half the silent noon ; 
At last she sank luxurious in her couch, 
Purple and golden-fringed, like the sun's, 
And stretched her white arms on the warmed air, 
As if to take some object w T herewrithal 
To ease the empty aching of her heart. 
4 



50 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

" 0, what a weariness of life is mine ! " 

The lady said, " soothing myself to sleep 

With my own lute, floating about the lake 

To feed my swans, with naught to stir my blood, 

Unless I scold my women thrice a-day. 

Unwrought yet in the tapestry of my life 

Are princely suitors kneeling evermore. 

I, in my beauty, standing in the midst, 

Touching them, careless, with most stately eyes, 

0, 1 could love, methinks, with all my soul ! 

But I see naught to love ; naught save some score 

Of lisping, curled gallants, with words i' their mouths 

Soft as their mothers' milk. 0, empty heart ! 

0, palace, rich and purple -chambered ! 

When will thy lord come home ? 

" When the blind morn was groping 'bout the east, 

The Earl went trooping forth to chase the stag; 

I trust he hath not to the sport he loves 

Better than ale-bouts ta'en my cub of Ind, 

My sweetest plaything. He is bright and wild 

As is a gleaming panther of the hills, — 

Lovely as lightning, beautiful as wild ! 

His sports and laughters are with fierceness edged ; 

There 's something in his beauty, all untamed, 

As I were toying with a naked sword, 

Which starts within my veins the blood of earls. 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 51 

I fain would have the service of his voice 

To kill with music this most languid moon.' , 

She rang a silver bell : with downcast eyes 

The tawny nursling of the Indian sun 

Stood at her feet. " I prithee, Leopard, sing; 

Voice me some stormy song of sword and lance, 

Which, rushing upward from a hero's heart, 

Straight rose upon a hundred leaguered hills, 

Ragged and wild as pyramid of flame. 

Or, better, sing some hungry lay of love 

Like that you sang me on the eve you told 

How poor our English to your Indian darks ; 

Shaken from odorous hills, what tender smells 

Pass like fine pulses through the mellow nights ; 

The purple ether that embathes the moon, — 

Your large round moon, more beautiful than ours ; 

Your showers of stars, each hanging luminous, 

Like golden dew-drops in the Indian air." 

" I know a song, born in the heart of love, 

Its sweetest sweet, steeped ere the close in tears. 

! T was sung into the cold ears of the stars 

Beside the murmured margent of the sea. 

'T is of two lovers, matched like cymbals fine, 

Who, in a moment of luxurious blood, 

Their pale lips trembling in the kiss of gods, 

Made their lives wine-cups, and then drank them off, 

And died w T ith beings full-blown like a rose ; 



52 A LTFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

A mighty heart-pant bore them like a wave, 

And flung them, flowers, upon the next world's strand. 

Night the solemn, night the starry, 
'Mong the oak-trees old and gnarry ; 

By, the sea-shore and the ships, 
'Neath the stars I sat with Clari ; 
Her silken bodice was unlaced, 
My arm was trembling round her waist, 

I plucked the joys upon her lips ; 
Joys, though plucked, still grow again ! 

Canst thou say the same, old Night ? 
Ha ! thy life is vain. 

Night the solemn, night the starry, 
O, that death would let me tarry, 

Like a dew-drop on a flower, 
Ever on those lips of Clari ! 
Our beings mellow, then they fall, 
Like o'er-ripe peaches from the wall ; 

We ripen, drop, and all is o'er ; 
On the cold grave weeps the rain ; 

I weep it should be so, old Night. 
Ah ! my tears are vain. 

Night the solemn, night the starry, 
Say, alas ! that years should harry 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 53 

Gloss from life and joys from lips, 
Love-lustres from the eyes of Clari ! 
Moon ! that walkest the blue deep, 
Like naked maiden in her sleep ; 

Star ! whose pallid splendor dips 
In the ghost-waves of the main. 

0, ye hear me not ! old Night, 
My tears and cries are vain." 

He ceased to sing ; queenly the lady lay, 

One white hand hidden in a golden shoal 

Of ringlets, reeling down upon her couch, 

And heaving on the heavings of her breast, 

The while the thoughts rose in her eyes like stars, 

Eising and setting in the blue of night. 

" I had a cousin once," the lady said, 

" Who brooding sat, a melancholy owl, 

Among the twilight branches of his thoughts. 

He was a rhymer, and great knights he spoiled, 

And damsels saved, and giants slew, in verse. 

He died in youth ; his heart held a dead hope, 

As holds the wretched west the sunset's corpse, 

Spit on, insulted by the brutal rains. 

He went to his grave, nor told what man he was. 

He was unlanguaged, like the earnest sea, 

Which strives to gain an utterance on the shore, 

But ne'er can shape unto the listening hills 



54 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

The lore it gathered in its awful age ; 

The crime for which 't is lashed by cruel winds 

To shrieks, mad spoomings to the frighted stars ; 

The thought, pain, grief, within its laboring heart. 

To fledge with music wings of heavy noon, 

I '11 sing some verses that he sent to me : 

Where the west has sunset-bloomed, 
Where a hero's heart is tombed, 
Where a thunder-cloud has gloomed, 

Seen, becomes a part of me. 
Flowers and rills live sunnily 
In gardens of my memory. 

Through its walks and leafy lanes 
Float fair shapes 'mong sunlight rains ; 
Blood is running in their veins. 

One, a queenly maiden fair, 
Sweepeth past me with an air, 
Kings might kneel beneath her stare. 

Eound her heart, a rosebud free, 
Keeled I, like a drunken bee ; 
Alas ! it would not ope to me. 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 55 

One comes shining like a saint, 

But her face I cannot paint, 

For mine eyes and blood grow faint. 

Eyes are dimmed as by a tear, 
Sounds are ringing in mine ear, 
I feel only she is here, 

That she laugheth where she stands, 
That she mocketh with her hands, 
I am bound in tighter bands. 

Laid 'mong faintest blooms is one, 
Singing in the setting sun, 
And her song is never done. 

She was born 'mong water-mills ; 
She grew up 'mong flowers and rills, 
In the hearts of distant hills. 

There, into her being stole 
Nature, and imbued the whole, 
And illumed her face and soul. 

She grew fairer than her peers ; 
Still her gentle forehead wears 
Holy lights of infant years. 



56 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

Her blue eyes, so mild and meek, 

She uplifteth, when I speak, 

Lo ! the blushes mount her cheek. 

Weary I of pride and jest, 
In this rich heart I would rest, 
Purple and love-lined nest. 

" My dazzling panther of the smoking hills, 
When the hot sun hath touched their loads of dew, 
What strange eyes had my cousin, who could thus 
(For you must know I am the first o' the three 
That pace the gardens of his memory) 
Prefer before the daughter of great earls 
This giglet, shining in her golden hair, 
Haunting him like a gleam or happy thought; 
Or her, the last, up whose cheeks blushes went 
As thick and frequent as the streamers pass 
Up cold December nights. True, she might be 
A dainty partner in the game of lips, 
Sweetening the honeymoon ; but what, alas ! 
When red-hot youth cools down to iron man ? 
Could her white fingers close a helmet up, . 
And send her lord unkissed away to field, 
Her heart striking with his arm in every blow ? 
Would joy rush through her spirit like a stream, 
When to her lips he came with victory back, 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DI1AMA. 57 

Acclaims and blessings on his head like crowns, 
His mouthed wounds brave trumpets in his praise, 
Drawing huge shoals of people, like the moon, 
Whose beauty draws the solemn-noised seas ? 
Or would his bright and lovely sanguine-stains 
Scare all the coward blood into her heart, 
Leaving her cheeks as pale as lily-leaves ? 
And at his great step would she quail and faint, 
And pay his seeking arms with bloodless swoon ? 
My heart would leap to greet such coming lord, 
Eager to meet him, tiptoe on my lips." 

" This cousin loved the Lady Constance ; did 
The Lady Constance love her cousin, too ? " 

" Ay, as a cousin. He wooed me, Leopard mine, 
I speared him with a jest ; for there are men 
Whose sinews stiffen 'gainst a knitted brow, 
Yet are unthreaded, loosened by a sneer, 
And their resolve doth pass as doth a wave : 
Of this sort was my cousin. I saw him once, 
A down a pleached alley, in the sun, 
Two gorgeous peacocks pecking from his hand ; 
At sight of me he first turned red, then pale. 
I laughed and said, ' I saw a misery perched 
P the melancholy corners of his mouth, 
Like griffins on each side my father's gates.' 



58 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

And, ' That by sighing he would win my heart, 

Somewhere as soon as he could hug the earth, 

And crack its golden ribs.' A week the boy 

Lived in his sorrow, like a cataract 

Unseen, yet sounding through its shrouding mists. 

Strange likings, too, this cousin had of mine. 

A frail cloud trailing o'er the midnight moon 

Was lovelier sight than wounded boar a-foam 

Among the yelping dogs. He 'd lie in fields, 

And through his fingers watch the changing clouds, 

Those playful fancies of the mighty sky, 

With deeper interest than a lady's face. 

He had no heart to grasp the fleeting hour, 

Which, like a thief, steals by with silent foot, 

In his closed hand the jewel of a life. 

He scarce would match this throned and kingdomed 

earth 
Against a dew-drop. 

" Who 'd leap in the chariot of my heart, 
And seize the reins, and wind it to his will, 
Must be of other stuff, my cub of Ind : 
White honor shall be like a plaything to him, 
Borne lightly, a pet falcon on his wrist ; 
One who can feel the very pulse o' the time, 
Instant to act, to plunge into the strife, 
And with a strong arm hold the rearing world. 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 59 

In costly chambers hushed with carpets rich, 
Swept b}r proud beauties in their whistling silks, 
Mars' plait shall smooth to sweetness on his brow ; 
His mighty front whose steel flung back the sun, 
When horsed for battle, shall bend above a hand 
Laid like a lily in his tawny palm, 
With such a grace as takes the gazer's eye. 
His voice that shivered the mad trumpet's blare, — 
A new-raised standard to the reeling field, — 
Shall know to tremble at a lady's ear, 
To charm her blood with the fine touch of praise, 
And, as she listens, steal away the heart. 
If the good gods do grant me such a man, 
More would I dote upon his trenched brows, 
His coal-black hair, proud eyes, and scornful lips, 
Than on a gallant curled like Absalom, 
Cheeked like Apollo, with his luted voice. 

" Canst tell me, Sir Dark-eyes, 
Is 't true what these strange-thoughted poets say, 
That hearts are tangled in a golden smile ? 
That brave cheeks pale before a queenly brow ? 
That mailed knees bend beneath a lighted eye ? 
That trickling tears are deadlier than swords ? 
That with our full-mooned beauty we can slave 
Spirits that walk time, like the travelling sun, 
With sunset glories girt around his loins ? 



60 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

That love can thrive upon such dainty food 

As sweet words, showering from a rosy lip, 

As sighs, and smiles, and tears, and kisses warm ? " 

The dark Page lifted up his Indian eyes 

To that bright face, and saw it all a-smile ; 

And then, half grave, half jestingly, he said, — 

" The devil fisheth best for souls of men 

When his hook is baited with a lovely limb ; 

Love lights upon the heart, and straight we feel 

More worlds of wealth gleam in an upturned eye 

Than in the rich heart of the miser sea. 

Beauty hath made our greatest manhoods weak. 

There have been men who chafed, leapt on their times, 

And reined them in as gallants rein their steeds 

To curvetings, to show their sweep of limb ; 

Yet love hath on their broad brows written ' fool.' 

Sages, with passions held in leash like hounds, — 

Grave Doctors, tilting with a lance of light 

In lists of argument, — have knelt and sighed 

Most plethoric sighs, and been but very men ; 

Stern hearts, close barred against a wanton world, 

Have had their gates burst open by a kiss. 

Why, there was one who might have topped all men, 

Who bartered joyously, for a single smile, 

This empire d planet with its load of crowns, 

And thought himself enriched. If ye are fair, 

Mankind will crowd around you, thick as when 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 61 

The full-faced moon sits silver on the sea, 
The eager waves lift up their gleaming heads, 
Each shouldering for her smile." 

The lady dowered him with her richest look, 

Her arch head half aside ; her liquid eyes 

From 'neath their dim lids drooping slumberous, 

Stood full on his, and called the wild blood up 

All in a tumult to his sun-kissed cheek, — 

As if it wished to see her beauty too, — 

Then asked in dulcet tones, " Dost think me fair ? " 

" 0, thou_art fairer than an Indian morn, 

Seated in her sheen palace of the east. 

Thy faintest smile out-prices the swelled wombs 

Of fleets, rich glutted, toiling wearily 

To vomit all their wealth on English strands. 

The whiteness of this hand should ne'er receive 

A poorer greeting than the kiss of kings ; 

And on thy happy lips doth sit a joy, 

Fuller than any gathered by the gods, 

in all the rich range of their golden heaven." 

" Now, by my mother's white enskied soul ! " 

The lady cried, 'twixt laugh and blush the while, 

" I '11 swear thou 'st been in love, my Indian sweet. 

Thy spirit on another breaks in joy, 

Like the pleased sea on a white-breasted shore — 

A shore that wears on her alluring brows 



62 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

Rare shells, far brought, the love-gifts of the sea, 
That blushed a tell-tale. Now, I swear by all 
The well-washed jewels strewn on fathom sands, 
That thou dost keep her looks, her words, her sighs, 
Her laughs, her tears, her angers, and her frowns, 
Balmed between memory's leaves ; and every day 
Dost count them o'er and o'er in solitude,- 
As pious monks count o'er their rosaries. 
Now, tell me, did she give thee love for love ? 
Or didst thou make midnight thy confidant, 
Telling her all about thy lady's eyes, 
How rich her cheek, how cold as death her scorn ? 
My lustrous Leopard, hast thou been in love ? " 
The Page's dark face flushed the hue of wine 
In crystal goblet stricken by the sun ; 
His soul stood like a moon within his eyes, 
Suddenly orbed ; his passionate voice was shook 
By trembles into music. — " Thee I love." 
" Thou ! " and the Lady, with a cruel laugh 
(Each silver throb went through him like a sword), 
Flung herself back upon her fringed couch. 
From which she rose upon him like a queen, 
She rose and stabbed him with her angry eyes. 
" 'T is well my father did not hear thee, boy, 
Or else my pretty plaything of an hour 
Might have gone sleep to-night without his head, 
And I might waste rich tears upon his fate. 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 63 

I would not have my sweetest plaything hurt. 

Dost think to scorch me with those blazing eyes, 

My fierce and lightning-blooded cub o' the sun ? 

Thy blood is up in riot on thy brow, 

P the face o' its monarch. Peace ! By my gray sire, 

Now could I slay thee with one look of hate, 

One single look ! My Hero ! my Heart-god ! 

My dusk Hyperion, Bacchus of the Inds ! 

My Hercules, with chin as smooth as my own ! 

I am so sorry maid, I cannot wear 

This great and proffered jewel of thy love. 

Thou art too bold, me thinks ! Didst never fear 

That on my poor deserts thy love would sit 

Like a great diamond on a threadbare robe ? 

I tremble for 't. I prithee, come to-morrow 

And I will pasture you upon my lips 

Until thy beard be grown. Go now, sir, go." 

As thence she waved him with arm-sweep superb, 

The light of scorn was cold within her eyes, 

And withered his bloomed heart, which, like a rose, 

Had opened, timid, to the noon of love. 

The lady sank again into her couch, 
Panting and flushed ; slowly she paled with thought ; 
When she looked up the sun had sunk an hour, 
And one round star shook in the orange west. 
The lady sighed, " It was my father's blood 



64 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

That bore me, as a red and wrathful stream 

Bears a shed leaf. I would recall my words, 

And yet I would not. 

Into what angry beauty rushed his face ! 

What lips ! what splendid eyes ! 't was pitiful 

To see such splendors ebb in utter woe. 

His eyes half won me. Tush ! I am a fool ; 

The blood that purples in these azure veins, 

Riched with its long course through a hundred earls, 

Were fouled and mudded if I stooped to him. 

My father loves him for his free wild wit ; 

I for his beauty and sun-lighted eyes. 

To bring him to my feet, to kiss my hand, 

Had I it in my gift, I 'd give the world, 

Its panting fire-heart, diamonds, veins of gold ; 

Its rich strands, oceans, belts of cedared hills, 

Whence summer smells are struck by all the winds. 

But whether I might lance him through the brain 

With a proud look, — or whether sternly kill 

Him with a single deadly word of scorn, — 

Or whether yield me up, 

And sink all tears and weakness in his arms, 

And strike him blind with a strong shock of joy — 

Alas ! I feel I could do each and all. 

I will be kind when next he brings me flowers, 

Plucked from the shining forehead of the morn, 

Ere they have oped their rich cores to the bee. 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DKA3IA. 65 

His wild heart with a ringlet will I chain, 

And o'er him I will lean me like a heaven, 

And feed him with sweet looks and dew-soft words, 

And beauty that might make a monarch pale, 

And thrill him to the heart's core with a touch ; 

Smile him to Paradise at close of eve, 

To hang upon my lips in silver dreams." 

LADY. 

What, art thou done already ? Thy tale is like 
A day unsealed with sunset. What though dusk ? 
A dusky rod of iron hath power to draw 
The lightnings from their heaven to itself. 
The richest wage you can pay love — is love. 

WALTER. 

Then close the tale thyself, - — I drop the mask ^ 
I am the sun-tanned Page ; the Lady, thou ! 
I take thy hand, it trembles in my grasp ; 
I look in thy face and see no frown in it. 
0, may my spirit on hope's ladder climb 
From hungry nothing up to star-packed space, 
Thence strain on tip-toe to thy love beyond — 
The only heaven I ask ! 

LADY. 

My God ! 't is hard ! 



66 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

When I was all in leaf the frost winds came, 
And now, when o'er me runs the summer's breath, 
It waves but iron boughs. 

WALTER. 

What dost thou murmur ? 
Thy cheek burns mad as mine. O untouched lips ! 
I see them as a glorious rebel sees 
A crown within his reach. I '11 taste their bliss, 
Although the price be death 

lady {springing up). 
Walter ! beware ! 
These tell-tale heavens are listening earnestly. 
Sir ! within a month my bridal bells 
Will make a village glad. The fainting Earth 
Is bleeding at her million golden veins, 
And by her blood I 'm bought. The sun shall see 
A pale bride wedded to gray hair, and eyes 
Of cold and cruel blue ; and in the spring 
A grave with daisies on it. 

WALTER. 

My world is cracked, 
My brittle brilliant world ! These knife-like words 
Have left a deep red gash across my heart. 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 67 

LADY. 

We twain have met like ships upon the sea, 

Who hold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet ; 

One little hour ! and then, away they speed 

On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, 

To meet no more. We have been foolish, Walter ! 

I would to God that I had never known 

This secret of thy heart, or else had met thee 

Years before this. 1 bear a heavy doom. 

If thy rich heart is like a palace shattered, 

Stand up amid the ruins of thy heart, 

And with a calm brow front the solemn stars. 

[Lady pauses ; Walter remains silent. 
'T is four o'clock already. See, the moon 
Has climbed the blue steep of the eastern sky, 
And sits and tarries for the coming night. 
So let thy soul be up and ready armed, 
In waiting till occasion comes like night ; 
As night to moons to souls occasion comes. 
I am thine elder, Walter ! in the heart. 
I read thy future like an open book : 
I see thou shalt have grief ; I also see 
Thy grief's edge blunted on the iron world. 
Be brave and strong through all thy wrestling years, 
A brave soul is a thing which all things serve ; 
When the great Corsican from Elba came, 
The soldiers sent to take him bound or dead 



68 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. 

Were struck to statues by his kingly eyes : 

He spoke — they broke their ranks, they clasped his 

knees, 
With tears along a cheering road of triumph 
They bore him to a throne. Know when to die ! 
Perform thy work and straight return to God. 
Be thou the midnight's white and drenching moon ; 
Set, when the midnight thou hast filled is past. 
O ! there are men who linger on the stage 
To gather crumbs and fragments of applause 
When they should sleep in earth — who, like the moon, 
Have brightened up some little night of time, 
And 'stead of setting when their light is worn, 
Still linger, like its blank and beamless orb, 
When daylight fills the sky. But I must go. 
Nay, nay, I go alone ! Yet one word more, — 
Strive for the Poet's crown, but ne'er forget 
How poor are fancy's blooms to thoughtful fruits ; 
That gold and crimson mornings, though more bright 
Than soft blue days, are scarcely half their worth. 
Walter, farewell ! the world shall hear of thee. 

[Lady still lingers. 
I have a strange sweet thought. I do believe 
I shall be dead in spring, and that the soul 
Which animates and doth inform these limbs 
Will pass into the daisies of my grave : 
If memory shall ever lead thee there, 



SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAIMA. 69 

Through daisies I '11 look up into thy face 

And feel a dim sweet joy; and if they move, 

As in a little wind, thou 'It know 't is I. [Lady goes. 

Walter [after a long interval, looking up). 
God ! what a light has passed away from earth 
Since my last look ! How hideous this night ! 
How beautiful the yesterday that stood 
Over me like a rainbow ! I am alone. 
The past is past. I see the future stretch 
All dark and barren as a rainy sea. 



SCENE V. 

Walter, wandering down a rural lane. Evening of the 
same day as Scene IV. 

WALTER. 

Sunset is burning like the seal of God 
Upon the close of day. — This very hour 
Night mounts her chariot in the eastern glooms 
To chase the flying Sun, whose flight has left 
Footprints of glory in the clouded west : 
Swift is she haled by winged swimming steeds, 
Whose cloudy manes are wet with heavy dews, 
And dews are drizzling from her chariot-wheels. 
Soft in her lap lies drowsy-lidded Sleep, 
Brainful of dreams, as summer-hive with bees ; 
And round her in the pale and spectral light 
Flock bats and grisly owls on noiseless wings. 
The flying sun goes down the burning west, 
Vast night comes noiseless up the eastern slope, 
And so the eternal chase goes round the world. 



SCENE V.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 71 

Unrest ! unrest ! The passion-panting sea 

Watches the unveiled beauty of the stars 

Like a great hungry soul. The unquiet clouds 

Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass, 

And float like mighty icebergs through the blue. 

Summers, like blushes, sweep the face of earth ; 

Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the frantic rain ; 

We hear the wail of the remorseful winds 

In their strange penance. And this wretched orb 

Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world, 

Homeless and sobbing through the deep she goes. 

[A Child runs past ; Walter looks after her. 
thou bright thing, fresh from the hand of God ! 
The motions of thy dancing limbs are swayed 
By the unceasing music of thy being ! 
Nearer I seem to God when looking on thee. 
'T is ages since he made his youngest star, 
His hand was on thee as 't were yesterday. 
Thou later Revelation ! Silver Stream, 
Breaking with laughter from the lake divine 
Whence all things flow ! bright and singing babe ! 
What wilt thou be hereafter ? — Why should man 
Perpetuate this round of misery 
When he has in his hand the power to close it ? 
Let there be no warm hearts, no love on earth. 
No Love ! No Love ! Love bringeth wretchedness. 
No holy marriage. No sweet infant smiles. 



72 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE V. 

No mother's bending o'er the innocent sleep 
With unvoiced prayers and with happy tears. 
Let the whole race die out, and with a stroke, 
A master-stroke, at once cheat Death and Hell 
Of half of their enormous revenues. 

[Walter approaches a cottage, a peasant 
sitting at the door. 
One of my peasants. 'T is a fair eve. 

PEASANT. 

Ay, Master ! 
How sweet the smell of beans upon the air ! 
The wheat is earing fairly. We have reason 
For thankfulness to God. 

Walter {looking upward). 

We have great reason ; 
For He provides a balm for all our woes. 
He has made Death. Thrice blessed be His name ! 

peasant. 
He has made Heaven 

WALTER. 

To yawn eternities. 
Did I say Death ? O God ! there is no death. 
When our eyes close, we only pass one stage 



SCENE V.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 73 

Of our eternal being-. Your hand, my friend ! 
For thou and I are sharers in one doom : 
We are immortals ; and must bear such woe 
That, could it light on God, in agony 
He 'd pay down all His stars to buy the death 
He doth deny us. — Dost thou wish to die ? 

PEASANT. 

I trust in God to live for many years, 
Although with a worn frame and with a heart 
Somewhat the worse for wear. 

WALTER. 

fool ! fool ! fool ! 
These hands are brown with toil, that brow is seamed, 
Still you must sweat and swelter in the sun, 
And trudge, with feet benumbed, the winter's snow, 
Nor intermission have until the end. 
Thou canst not draw down fame upon thy head, 
And yet would cling to life ! I '11 not believe it ; 
The faces of all things belie their hearts, 
Each man 's as weary of his life as I. 
This anguished earth shines on the moon — a moon. 
The moon hides with a cloak of tender light 
A scarred heart fed upon by hungry fires. 
Black is this world, but blacker is the next ; 
There is no rest for any living soul : 



74 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE V. 

We are immortals — and must bear with us 
Through all eternity this hateful being ; 
Restlessly flitting from pure star to star, 
The memory of our sins, deceits, and crimes, 
Will eat into us like a poisoned robe. ' 
Yet thou canst wear content upon thy face 
And talk of thankfulness ! die, man, die ! 
Get underneath the earth for very shame. 

[During this speech the Child draws near ; at its 
close her Father presents her to Walter. 
Is this thy answer ? [Looks at her earnestly. 

O, my worthy friend, 
I lost a world to-day and shed no tear ; 
Now I could weep for thee. Sweet sinless one ! 
My heart is weak as a great globe, all sea. 
It finds no shore to break on but thyself : 
So let it break. 

[He hides his face in his hands, the Child 
looking fearfully up at him. 



SCENE VI. 

A Room in London. "Walter reading from a 
Manuscript. 

My head is gray, my blood is young, 

Red-leaping in my veins, 

The spring doth stir my spirit yet 

To seek the cloistered violet, 

The primrose in the lanes. 

In heart I am a very boy, 

Haunting the woods, the waterfalls, 

The ivies on gray castle-walls ; 

Weeping in silent joy 

"When the broad sun goes down the west, 

Or trembling o'er a sparrow's nest. 

The world might laugh were I to tell 

What most my old age cheers, — 

Memories of stars and crescent moons, 

Of nutting strolls through autumn noons, 



76 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VI. 

Kainbows 'mong April's tears. 

But chief, to live that hour again, 

When first I stood on sea-beach old, 

First heard the voice, first saw out-rolled 

The glory of the main. 

Many rich draughts hath Memory, 

The Soul's cup-bearer, brought to me. 

I saw a garden in my strolls, 

A lovely place, I ween, 

With rows of vermeil-blossomed trees, 

With flowers, with slumberous haunts of bees, 

With summer-house of green. 

A peacock perched upon a dial, 

In the sun's face he did unclose 

His train superb with eyes and glows, 

To dare the sun to trial. 

A child sat in a shady place, 

A shower of ringlets round her face. 

She sat on shaven plot of grass, 
With earnest face, and weaving 
Lilies white and freaked pansies 
Into quaint delicious fancies, 
Then, on a sudden leaving 
Her floral wreath, she would upspring 
With silver shouts and ardent eyes, 
To chase the yellow butterflies, 



SCENE VI.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 7' 

Making the garden ring ; 

Then gravely pace the scented walk, 

Soothing her doll with childish talk. 

And being, as I said before, 

An old man who could find 

A boundless joy beneath the skies, 

And in the light of human eyes, 

And in the blowing wind, 

There daily were my footsteps turned, 

Through the long spring, till autumn's peaches 

Were drooping full-juiced in my reaches. — 

Each day my old heart yearned 

To look upon that child so fair, 

That infant in her golden hair. 

In this green lovely world of ours 

I have had many pets ; 

Two are still leaping in the sun, 

Three are married; that dearest one 

Is 'neath the violets. 

I gazed till my heart grew wild, 

To fold her in my warm caresses, 

Clasp her showers of golden tresses, — 

0, dreamy-eyed child ! 

O Child of Beauty ! still thou art 

A sunbeam in this lonely heart. 



78 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VI. 

When autumn eves grew chill and rainy, 

England left I for the Ganges ; 

I couched 'mong groves of cedar-trees, 

Blue lakes, and slumberous palaces, 

Crossed the snows of mountain-ranges, 

Watched the set of old Orion, 

Saw wild flocks and wild-eyed shepherds, 

Princes charioted by leopards, 

In the desert met the lion, 

The mad sun above us glaring, — 

Child ! for thee I still was caring. 

Home returned from realms barbaric, 
By the shores of Loch Lubnaig, 
A dear friend and I were walking 
('T was the Sabbath), we were talking 
Of dreams and feelings vague ; 
We paused by a place of graves, 
Scarcely a word was 'twixt us given, 
Silent the earth, silent the heaven, 
No murmur of the waves, 
The awed Loch lay black and still 
In the black shadow of the hill. 

We loosed the gate and wandered in, 
When the sun eternal 
Was sudden blanched with amethyst, 
As if a thick and purple mist 



SCENE VI.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 79 

Dusked his brows supernal. 

Soon, like a god in mortal throes, 

City, hill and sea, he dips 

In the death-hues of eclipse ; 

Mightier his anguish grows, 

Till he hung black, with ring intense, 

The wreck of his magnificence. 

Above the earth's cold face he hung 

With a pale ring of glory, 

Like that which cunning limners pamt 

Around the forehead of a saint, 

Or brow of martyr hoary. 

And sitting there I could but choose, — 

That blind and stricken sun aboon, 

Stars shuddering through the ghostly noon, 

'Mong the thick-falling dews, — 

To tell, with features pale and wild, 

About that Garden and that Child. 

When moons had waxed and waned, I stood 

Beside the garden-gate, 

The Peacock's dial was overthrown, 

The walks with moss were overgrown, 

Her bower was desolate. 

Gazing in utter misery 

Upon that sad and silent place, 



80 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VI. 

A woman came with mournful face, 
And thus she said to me, — 
" Those trees, as they were human sotils, 
All withered at the death-bell knolls." 

I turned and asked her of the child. 

" She is gone hence," quoth she, 

" To be with Christ in Paradise. 

O, sir ! I stilled her infant cries, 

I nursed her on my knee. 

Though we were ever at her side, 

And saw life fading in her cheek, 

She knew us not, nor did she speak, 

Till just before she died ; 

In the wild heart of that eclipse, 

These words came through her wasted lips : 

e The callow young were huddling in the nests, 
The marigold was burning in the marsh, 
Like a thing dipt in sunset, when He came. 

My blood went up to meet Him on my face, 
Glad as a child that hears its father's step, 
And runs to meet him at the open porch. 

I gave Him all my being, like a flower 
That flings its perfume on a vagrant breeze ; 
A breeze that wanders on and heeds it not. 



SCENE VI.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 81 

His scorn is lying on my heart like snow, 
My eyes are weary, and I fain would sleep ; 
The quietest sleep is underneath the ground 

Are ye around me, friends ? I cannot see, 

I cannot hear the voices that I love, 

I lift my hands to you from out the night. 

Methought I felt a tear upon my cheek ; 
Weep not, my mother ! It is time to rest, 
And I am very weary ; so, good-night ! ' 

" My heart is in the grave with her, 
The family went abroad ; 
Last autumn you might see the fruits, 
Neglected, rot round the tree-roots ; 
This spring no leaves they showed. 
I sometimes fear my brain is crost ; 
Around this place, the church-yard yonder, 
All day, all night, I silent wander, 

As woful as a ghost 

God take me to His gracious' keeping, 
But this old^han is wildly weeping ! " 

That night the sky was heaped with clouds ; 
Through one blue gulf profound, 
Begirt with many a cloudy crag, 
The moon came rushing like a stag, 
6 



82 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VI. 

And one star like a hound. 

Wearily the chase I eyed, 

Wearily I saw the Dawn's 

Feet sheening o'er the dewy lawns. 

O God ! that I had died. 

My heart's red tendrils were all torn 

And bleeding on that summer morn. 

waltek [after a long silence, speaking abstractedly, and 

with frequent pauses). 
Twice hath the windy summer made a noise 
Of leaves o'er all the land from sea to sea, 
And still that Child's face sleeps within my heart 
Like a young sunbeam in a gloomy wood, 
Making the darkness smile — I almost smile 
At the strange fancies I have girt her with ; 
The garden, peacock, and the black eclipse, 
The still old grave-yard 'mong the dreary hills, 
Gray mourners round it — I wonder if she 's dead ? 
She was too fair for earth. Ah ! she would die 
Like music, sunbeams, and the pallid flowers 
That spring on Winter's corse — I saw those graves 
With Him who is no more. They are all dead, 
The beings whom I loved, and I am sad, 
But would not change my sadness for a life 
Without a fissure running through its joy. 
This very hour a suite of sumptuous rooms 



SCENE VI.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 83 

O'erflows with music like a cup with wine ; 

Outside, the night is weeping like a girl 

At her seducer's door, and still the rooms 

Eun o'er with music, careless of her woe. 

I would not have my heart thus. This poor rhyme 

Is but an adumbration of my life, 

My misery tricked out in a quaint disguise. 

O, it did happen on a summer day, 

When I was playing unawares with flowers, 

That happiness shot past me like a planet, 

And I was barren left ! 

Enter Edward {unobserved) . 

Edward. 
Walter 's love-sick for Fame : 
A haughty mistress ! How this mad old world 
Reels to its burning grave, shouting forth names, 
Like a wild drunkard at his frenzy's height, 
And they who bear them deem such shoutings Fame, 
And, smiling, die content. What is thy thought ? 

WALTER. 

'T is this, a sad one : — Though our beings point 
Upward, like prayers or quick spires of flame, 
We soon lose interest in this breathing world. 
Joy palls from taste to taste, until we yawn 



84 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VI. 

In Pleasure's glowing face. When first we love, 

Our souls are clad with joy, as if a tree, 

All winter-bare, had on a sudden leapt 

To a full load of blooms ; next time 't is naught. 

Great weariness doth feed upon the soul ; 

I sometimes think the highest-blest in heaven 

Will weary 'mong its flowers. As for myself, 

There 's nothing new between me and the grave 

But the cold feel of Death. 

EDWARD. 

Watch well thy heart ! 
It is, me thinks, an eager shaking star, 
Not a calm steady planet. 

WALTER. 

I love thee much, 
But thou art all unlike the glorious guide 
Of my proud boyhood. 0, he led me up, 
As Hesper, large and brilliant, leads the night ! 
Our pulses beat together, and our beings 
Mixed like two voices in one perfect tune, 
And his the richest voice. He loved all things, 
From God to foam-bells dancing down a stream, 
With a most equal love. Thou mock'st at much ; 
And he who sneers at any living hope 
Or aspiration of a human heart 



SCENE VI.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 85 

Is just so many stages less than God, 

That universal and all-sided Love. 

I 'm wretched, Edward ! to the very heart ; 

I see an unreached heaven of young desire 

Shine through my hopeless tears. My drooping sails 

Flap idly 'gainst the mast of my intent. 

I rot upon the waters when my prow 

Should grate the golden isles. 

EDWARD. 

What wouldst thou do ? 
Thy brain did teem with vapors wild and vast. 

WALTER. 

But since my younger and my hotter days 
(As nebula condenses to an orb), 
These vapors gathered to one shining hope, 
Sole-hanging in my sky. 

EDWARD. 

What hope is that ? 

WALTER. 

To set this Age to music, — the great work 

Before the Poet now. I do believe 

When it is fully sung, — its great complaint, 

Its hope, its yearning, told to earth and heaven, — 



86 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VI. 

Our troubled age shall pass, as doth a day 

That leaves the west all crimson with the promise 

Of the diviner morrow, which even then 

Is hurrying up the world's great side with light. 

Father ! if I should live to see that morn, 

Let me go upward, like a lark, to sing 

One song in the dawning ! 

EDWARD. 

0, you 'd patch with song 
The ragged mantle of the beggar earth ! 
Most hopeless, truly, this of all the tasks 
You could put hands to. No, my ardent friend ! 
You need not tinker at this leaking world ; 
'T is ruined past all cure. 

WALTER. 

Edward, for shame ! 
Not on a path of reprobation runs 
The trembling earth. God's eye doth follow her 
With far more love than doth her maid, the moon. 
Speak no harsh words of Earth ; she is our mother, 
And few of us, her sons, who have not added 
A wrinkle to her brow. She gave us birth, 
We drew our nurture from her ample breast, 
And there is coming, for us both, an hour 
When we shall pray that she will ope her arms 



SCENE VI.] A LIFE -DRAMA. 87 

And take us back again. 0, I would pledge 
My heart, my blood, my brain, to ease the earth 
Of but one single pang ! 

EDWARD. 

So would not I. 
Because the pangs of earth shall ne'er be eased. 
We sleep on velvets now, instead of leaves ; 
The land is covered with a net of iron, 
Upon whose spider-like, far-stretching lines, 
The trains are rushing ; and the peevish sea 
Frets 'gainst the bulging bosoms of the ships 
Whose keels have waked it from its hour's repose. 
Walter ! this height of civilization's tide 
Measures our wrong. We 've made the immortal Soul 
Slave to the Body. 'T is the Soul has wrought 
And laid the iron roads, — evoked a power 
Next mightiest to God to drive the trains 
That bring the country butter up to town; 
Has drawn the terrible lightning from its cloud, 
And tamed it to an eager Mercury, 
Running with messages of news and grain ; 
And still the Soul is tasked to harder work, 
For Paradise, according to the world, 
Is scarce a league a-head. 

WALTER. 

The man I loved 



S3 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE VI. 

Wrought this complaint of thine into a song, 
Which I sung long ago. 

EDWARD. 

We must reverse 
The plans of ages. Let the Body sweat, 
So that the soul be calm, why should it work ? 
Say, had I spent the pith of half my life, 
And made me master of our English law, 
What gain had I on resurrection morn, 
But such as hath the body of a clown, 
That it could turn a summerset on earth ? 
A single soul is richer than all worlds ; 
Its acts are only shadows of itself, 
And eft its wondrous wealth is all unknown ; 
'T is like a mountain-range, whose rugged sides 
Feed starveling flocks of sheep ; pierce the bare sides 
And they ooze plenteous gold. We must go down 
And work our souls like mines, make books our lamps, 
Not shrines to worship at, nor heed the world — 
Let it go roaring past. You sigh for Fame ; 
Would serve as long as Jacob for his love, 
So you might win her. Spirits calm and still 
Are high above your order, as the stars 
Sit large and tranquil o'er the restless clouds 
That weep and lighten, pelt the earth with hail, 
And fret themselves away. The truly great 



SCENE VI.J A LIFE -DRAMA. 

Rest in the knowledge of their own deserts, 
Nor seek the confirmation of the world. 
Wouldst thou be calm and still ? 

WALTER. 

I 'd be as lieve 
A minnow to leviathan, that draws 
A furrow like a ship. Away ! away ! 
You 'd make the world a very oyster-bed. 
I 'd rather be the glad, bright-leaping foam, 
Than the smooth sluggish sea. O let me live 
To love and flush and thrill — or let me die ! 

EDWARD. 

And yet, what weariness was on your tongue 
An hour ago ! — you shall be wearier yet. 



SCENE VII. 

A Balcony overlooking the Sea — Edward and Walter 
seated. 

WALTER, 

The lark is singing in the blinding sky, 
Hedges are white with May. The bridegroom sea 
Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride, 
And, in the fulness of his marriage joy, 
He decorates her tawny brow with shells, 
Retires a space, to see how fair she looks, 
Then proud runs up to kiss her. All is fair — 
All glad, from grass to sun ! Yet more I love 
Than this the shrinking day that sometimes comes 
In "Winter's front, so fair 'mong its dark peers, 
It seems a straggler from the files of June, 
Which in its wanderings had lost its wits, 
And half its beauty; and, when it returned, 
Finding its old companions gone away, 



SCENE VII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 91 

It joined November's troop, then marching past ; 
And so the frail thing comes, and greets the world 
With a thin crazy smile, then bursts in tears, 
And all the while it holds within its hand 
A few half-withered flowers. I love and pity it ! 

EDWARD. 

Air is like Happiness or Poetry. 
We see it in the glorious roof of day, 
We feel it lift the down upon the cheek, 
We hear it when it sways the heavy woods, 
We close our hand on 't — and we have it not. 

WALTER. 

I 'd be above all things the summer wind 
Blowing across a kingdom, rich with alms 
From every flower and forest, ruffling oft 
The sea to transient wrinkles in the sun, 
Where every wrinkle disappears in light. 

EDWARD. 

Like God, I would pervade Humanity, 

From bridegroom dreaming on his marriage morn, 

To a wild wretch tied on the farthest bough 

Of oak that roars on edge of an abyss, 

The while the desperate wind with all its strength 



92 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VII. 

Strains the whole night to drive it down the gulf, 
Which like a beast gapes wide for man and tree. 
I 'd creep into the lost and ruined hearts 
Of sinful women dying in the streets, — 
Of pinioned men, their necks upon the block, 
Axe gleaming in the air. 

WALTER. 

Away, away ! 
Break not, my Edward, this consummate hour ; 
For very oft within the year that 's past 
I Ve fought against thy drifts of wintry thought 
Till they put out my fires, and I have lain, 
A volcano choked with snow. Now let me rest ! 
If I should wear a rose but once in life, 
You surely would not tear it leaf from leaf, 
And trample all its sweetness in the dust ! 
Thy dreary thoughts will make my festal heart 
As empty and as desolate 's a church 
When worshippers are gone and night comes down. 
Spare me this happy hour, and let me rest ! 

EDWARD. 

The banquet you do set before your joys 
Is surely but indifferently served, 
When they so readily vacate their seats. 



SCENE Vn.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 93 

Walter {abstractedly). 
Would I could raise the dead ! 
I am as happy as the singing heavens — 
There was one very dear to me that died, 
With heart as vacant as a last-year's nest. 
O, could I bring her back, I 'd empty mine, 
And brim hers with my joy ! — enough for both. 

edward {after a pause). 
The garrulous sea is talking to the shore, 
Let us go down and hear the graybeard's speech. 

[They icalk along the sands. 
I shall go down to Bedfordshire to-morrow. 
Will you go with me ? 

WALTER. 

Whom shall we see there ? 

EDWARD. 

Why, various specimens of that biped, Man. 

1 11 show you one who might have been an abbot 

In the old time ; a large and portly man, 

"W ith merry eyes, and crown that shines like glass. 

No thin-smiled April he, bedript with tears, 

But apple d-xiutumn, golden-cheeked and tan ; 

A jest in his mouth feels sweet as crusted wine. 

As if all eager for a merry thought, 



94 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VII. 

The pits of laughter dimple in his cheeks. 

His speech is flavorous, evermore he talks 

In a warm, brown, autumnal sort of style. 

A worthy man, Sir ! who shall stand at compt 

With conscience white, save some few stains of wine. 

WALTER. 

Commend me to him ! He is half right. The Past 
Is but an emptied flask, and the rich Future 
A bottle yet uncorked. Who is the next ? 

EDWARD. 

Old Mr. Wilmott, nothing in himself, 
But rich as ocean. He has in his hand 
Sea-marge and moor, and miles of stream and grove, 
Dull flats, scream-startled, as the exulting train 
Streams like a meteor through the frighted night, 
Wind-billowed plains of wheat, and marshy fens, 
Unto whose reeds on midnights blue and cold 
Long strings of geese come clanging from the stars. 
Yet wealthier in one child than in all these ! 
O ! she is fair as Heaven ! and she wears 
The sweetest name that woman ever wore, 
And eyes to match her name. — - 'T is Violet. 

WALTER. 

If like her name, she must be beautiful. 



SCENE VII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 95 

EDWARD. 

And so she is ; she has dark violet eyes, 

A voice as soft as moonlight. On her cheek 

The blushing blood miraculous doth range 

From sea-shell pink to sunset. When she speaks 

Her soul is shining through her earnest face, 

As shines a moon through its up-swathing cloud — 

My tongue 's a very beggar in her praise, 

It cannot gild her gold with all its words. 

TVALTER. 

Hath unbreeched Cupid struck your heart of ice ? 
You speak of her as if you were her lover. 
Could you not find a home within her heart ? 
No, no ! you are too cold, you never loved. 

EDWARD. 

There 's nothing colder than a desolate hearth. 

WALTER. 

A desolate hearth ! Did fire leap on it once ? 

EDWARD. 

My hand is o'er my heart — and shall remain. — 
Let the swift minutes run, red sink the sun, 
To-morrow w T ill be rich with Violet. 



96 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VII. 

WALTER. 

So be it, large he sinks ! Eepentant Day- 
Frees with his dying hand the pallid stars 
He held imprisoned since his young hot dawn. 
Now watch with what a silent step of fear 
They '11 steal out one by one, and overspread 
The cool delicious meadows of the night. 

EDWARD. 

And lo, the first one flutters in the blue 
With a quick sense of liberty and joy ! 

[Two hours afterwards. 

WALTER. 

The rosy glow has faded from the sky, 
The rosy glow has faded from the sea. 
A tender sadness drops upon my soul 
Like the soft twilight dropping on the world. 

EDWARD. 

Behold yon shining symbol overhead, 
Clear Venus hanging in the mellow west, 
Jupiter large and sovereign in the east, 
With the red Mars between. 

WALTER. % 

See yon poor star 



SCENE VII. ] A LIFE-DRAMA. 97 

That shudders o'er the mournful hill of pines ! 
'T would almost make you weep, it seems so sad. 
'T is like an orphan trembling with the cold 
Over his mother's grave among the pines. 
Like a wild lover who has found his love 
Worthless and foul, our friend, the sea, has left 
His paramour the shore ; naked she lies, 

gly and black and bare. Hark how he moans ! 
The pain is in his heart. Inconstant fool ! 
He will be up upon her breast to-morrow 
As eager as to-day. 

EDWARD. 

Like man in that. 
We cannot see the lighthouse in the gloom, 
We cannot see the rock ; but look ! now, now, 
It opes its ruddy eye, the night recoils, 
A crimson line of light runs out to sea, 
A guiding torch to the benighted ships. 

[After a long pause 
God ! 'mid our despairs and throbs and pains, 
What a calm joy doth fill great Nature's heart ! 

WALTER. 

Thou look'st up to the night as to the face 
Of one thou lov'st ; I know her beauty is 
Deep-mirrored in thy soul as in a sea. 

7 



98 A. LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VII. 

What are thy thinkings of the earth and stars ? — 

A theatre magnificently lit 

For sorry acting, undeserved applause ? 

Dost think there 's any music in the spheres ? 

Or doth the whole creation, in thine ear, 

Moan like a stricken creature to its God, 

Fettered eternal in a lair of pain ? 

EDWARD. 

I think — we are two fools, let us to bed. 
What care the stars for us 2 



SCENE VIII. 

Evening — A Room in a Manor — Mr. Wilmott, 

Arthur, Edward, — Walter seated 

a little apart. 

WALTER. 

She grows on me like moonrise on the night — 
My life is shaped in spite of me, the same 
As ocean*by his shores. "Why am I here ? 
The weary sun was lolling in the west, 
Edward and I were sauntering on the shore 
Yawning with idleness ; and so we came 
To kill the tedium of slow-creeping days. 
On such slight hinges an existence turns ! 
How frequent in the very thick of life 
We rub clothes with a fate that hurries past ! 
A tiresome friend detains us in the street, 
We part, and, turning, meet fate in the teeth. 



100 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

A moment more or less had Voided it. 

Yet, through the subtle texture of our souls, 

From circumstance each draws a different hue, 

As sunlight falling on a bed of flowers, 

From the same sunlight one draws crimson deep, 

Another azure pale. Edward and I 

See Violet each day, her silks brush both. 

She smiles on both alike. — My heart ! she comes. 

[Violet enters and crosses the room, 
O God ! I 'd be the very floor that bears 
Such a majestic thing ! Now feed, my eyes, 
On beauteous poison, Nightshade, honey sweet. 

[A silence. 

violet. 
There is a ghastly chasm in the talk, 
As if a fate hung in the midst of us, 
It 's shadow on each heart. Why, this should be 
A dark and lustrous night of wit and wine, 
Rich with quick bouts of merry argument, 
And witty sallies quenched in laughter sweet, 
Yet my voice trembles in a solitude, 
Like a lone man in a great wilderness. 

MR. WILMOTT. 

Arthur, you once could sing a roaring song, 
That to the chorus drew our voices out ; 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 101 

'T were no bad plan to sing us one to-night. 

Come, wash the roughness from your throat with wine. 

ARTHUR. 

What sort of song, Sirs, shall I sing to you — 
Dame Venus panting on her bed of flowers, 
Or Bacchus purple-mouthed astride his tun ? 
Now for a headlong song of blooded youth, 
Give 't such a welcome as shall lift the roof off — 
Sweet friends, be ready with a hip hurra ! 

Arthur sings. 
A fig for a draught from your crystalline fountains, 

Your cold sunken wells, 

In mid forest dells, 
Ha ! bring me the fiery bright dew of the mountains, 
When yellowed with peat-reek, and mellowed with age. 

O, richest joy-giver ! 

Rare warmer of liver ! 
Diviner than kisses, thou droll and thou sage ! 
Fine soul of a land struck with brightest sun-tints, 

Of dark purple moors, 

Of sleek ocean-floors, 
Of hills stained with heather like bloody footprints ; 
In sunshine, in rain, a flask shall be nigh me, 
Warm heart, blood and brain, Fine Sprite deify me ! 



102 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

iVe drunk 'mong slain deer in a lone mountain 
shieling, 

I Ve drunk till delirious, 

While rain beat imperious, 
And rang roof and rafter with bagpipes and reeling. 
I Ve drunk in Eed Eannoch, amid its gray boulders, 

Where, fain to be kissed, 

Through his thin scarf of mist 
Ben-More to the sun heaves his wet shining shoulders ! 
I Ve tumbled in hay with the fresh ruddy lasses, 

I Ve drunk with the reapers, 

I Ve roared with the keepers, 
And scared night away with the ring of our glasses ! 
In sunshine, in rain, a flask shall be nigh me, 
Warm heart, blood and brain, Fine Sprite deify me ! 

Come, string bright songs upon a thread of wine, 
And let the coming midnight pass through us, 
Like a dusk prince crusted with gold and gems ! 
Our studious Edward from his Lincoln fens, 
And home quaint-gabled hid in rooky trees ; 
Seen distant is the sun in the arch of noon, 
Seen close at hand, the same sun large and red, 
His day's work done, within the lazy west 
Sitting right portly, staring at the world 
With a round, rubicund, wine-bibbing face — 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 103 

Ha ! like a dove, I see a merry song 
Pluming itself for flight upon his lips. 

Edward sings. 

My heart is beating with all things that are, 

My blood is wild unrest ; 
With what a passion pants yon eager star 

Upon the water's breast ! 
Clasped in the air's soft arms the world doth sleep, 

Asleep its moving seas, its humming lands ; 
With what an hungry lip the ocean deep 

Lappeth forever the white-breasted sands ! 
What love is in the moon's eternal eyes, 

Leaning unto the earth from out the midnight skies ! 

Thy large dark eyes are wide upon my brow, 

Filled with as tender light 
As yon low moon doth fill the heavens now, 

This mellow autumn night ! 
On the late flowers I linger at thy feet. 

I tremble when I touch thy garment's rim, 
I clasp thy waist, I feel thy bosom's beat — 

kiss me into faintness sweet and dim ! 
Thou leanest to me as a swelling peach, 

Full-juiced and mellow, leaneth to the taker's reach. 



104 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

Thy hair is loosened by that kiss you gave, 

It floods my shoulders o'er ; 
Another yet ! 0, as a weary wave 

Subsides upon the shore, 
My hungry being with its hopes, its fears, 

My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest, 
Yet strong as is despair, as weak as tears, 

Doth faint upon thy breast ! 
I feel thy clasping arms, my cheek is wet 
With thy rich tears. One kiss ! Sweet, sweet, another 
yet! 

I sang this song some twenty years ago 
(Hot to the ear-tips, with great thumps of heart), 
On the gold lawn, while Caesar-like the sun 
Gathered his robes around him as he fell. 

ARTHUR. 

Struck by some country cousin, a rosy beauty 

Of the Dutch-cheese order, riched with great black eyes, 

Which, when you planned a theft upon her lips, 

Looked your heart quite away ! 

O Love ! Wine ! thou sun and moon o' our lives, 

What oysters were we without love and wine ! 

Our host, I doubt not, vaults a mighty tun, 

Wide-wombed and old, cobwebbed and dusted o'er. 

Broach ! and within its gloomy sides you '11 find 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 105 

A beating heart of wine. The world 's a tun, 
A gloomy tun, but he who taps the world 
Will find much sweetness in 't. Walter, my boy, 
Against this sun of wine's most purple light 
Burst into song. 

WALTER. 

I fear, Sir, I have none. 

ARTHUR. 

Hang nuts in autumn woods ? Then 't is your trade, 

Spin us a new one. Come ! some youth love-mad, 

Reading the thoughts within his lady's eyes, 

Earnest as One that looks into the Book, 

Seeking the road to bliss — 

Clothe me this bare bough with your sunny flowers. 

WALTER. 

The evening heaven is not always dressed 
With frail cloud-empires of the setting sun, 
Nor are we always in our singing-robes. 
I have no song, nor can I make you one, 
But, with permission, I will tell a tale. 

ARTHUR. 

If short and merry, Heaven speed your tongue ; 
If long and sad, the Lord have mercy on us ! 



106 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

WALTER. 

Within a city One was born to toil, 

Whose heart could not mate with the common doom, 

To fall like a spent arrow in the grave. 

'Mid the eternal hum, the boy clomb up 

Into a shy and solitary youth. 

With strange joys and strange sorrows, oft to tears 

He was moved, he knew not why, when he has stood 

Among the lengthened shadows of the eve, 

Such feeling overflowed him from the sky. 

Alone he dwelt, solitary as a star 

Unsphered and exiled, yet he knew no scorn. 

Once did he say, " For me, I 'd rather live 

With this weak human heart and yearning blood, 

Lonely as God, than mate with barren souls ; 

More brave, more beautiful, than myself must be 

The man whom truly I can call my Friend ; 

He must be an Inspirer, who can draw 

To higher heights of Being, and ever stand 

O'er me in unreached beauty, like the moon ; 

Soon as he fail in this, the crest and crown 

Of noble friendship, he is naught to me. 

What so unguessed as Death ? Yet to the dead 

It lies as plain as yesterday to us. 

Let me go forward to my grave alone ; 

What need have I to linger by dry wells ? " 

Books were his chiefest friends. In them he read 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 107 

Of those great spirits who went down like suns, 
And left upon the mountain-tops of Death 
A light that made them lovely. His own heart 
Made him a Poet. Yesterday to him 
Was richer far than fifty years to come. 
Alchemist Memory turned his past to gold. 
When morn awakes against the dark wet earth, 
Back to the morn she laughs with dewy sides, 
Up goes her voice of larks ! With like effect 
Imagination opened on his life, 
It lay all lovely in that rarer light. 

He was with nature on the Sabbath-days. 

Far from the dressed throngs and the city bells, 

He gave his hot brows to the kissing wind, 

While restless thoughts were stirring in his heart. 

" These worldly men will kill me with their scorns, 

But Nature never mocks or jeers at me ; 

Her dewy soothings of the earth and air 

Do wean me from the thoughts that mad my brain. 

Our interviews are stolen ; I can look, 

Nature ! in thy serene and griefless eyes 

But at long intervals ; yet, Nature ! yet, 

Thy silence and the fairness of thy face 

Are present with me in the booming streets. 

Yon quarry shattered by the bursting fire, 

And disembowelled by the biting pick, 



108 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

Kind Nature ! thou hast taken to thyself; 

Thy weeping Aprils and soft-blowing Mays, 

Thy blossom-buried Junes, have smoothed its scars, 

And hid its wounds and trenches deep in flowers. 

So take my worn and passion-wasted heart, 

Maternal Nature ! Take it to thyself, 

Efface the scars of scorn, the rents of hate, 

The wounds of alien eyes, visit my brain 

With thy deep peace, fill with thy calm my heart, 

And the quick courses of my human blood." 

Thus would he muse and wander, till the sun 

Eeached the red west, where all the waiting clouds, 

Attired before in homely dun and gray, 

Like Parasites that dress themselves in smiles 

To feed a great man's eye, in haste put on 

Their purple mantles rimmed with ragged gold, 

And congregating in a shining crowd, 

Flattered the sinking orb with faces bright. 

As slow he journeyed home, the wanderer saw 

The laboring fires come out against the dark, 

For with the night the country seemed on flame ; 

Innumerable furnaces and pits, 

And gloomy holds, in which that bright slave, Fire, 

Doth pant and toil all day and night for man, 

Threw large and angry lustres on the sky, 

And shifting lights across the long black roads. 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 109 

Dungeoned in poverty, he saw afar 

The shining peaks of fame that wore the sun ; 

Most heavenly bright, they mocked him through his 

bars. 
A lost man wildered on the dreary sea, 
When loneliness hath somew T hat touched his brain, 
Doth shrink and shrink beneath the watching sky, 
Which hour by hour more plainly doth express 
The features of a deadly enemy, 
Drinking his woes with a most hungry eye. 
Even so, by constant staring on his ills, 
They grew worse-featured; till, in his great rage, 
His spirit, like a roused sea, white w T ith wrath, 
Struck at the stars. " Hold fast ! Hold fast ! my brain ! 
Had I a curse to kill with, by yon Heaven ! 
I 'd feast the worms to-night." Dreadfuller words, 
Whose very terror blanched his conscious lips, 
He uttered in his hour of agony. 
With quick and subtle poison in his veins, 
With madness burning in his heart and brain, 
Wild words, like lightnings, round his pallid lips, 
He rushed to die in the very eyes of God. 
'T was late, for as he reached the open roads, 
Where night was reddened by the drudging fires, 
The drowsy steeples tolled the hour of One. 
The city now was left long miles behind, 
A large black hill w T as looming 'gainst the stars, 



110 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

He reached its summit. Far above his head, 

Up there upon the still and mighty night, 

God's name was writ in worlds. A while he stood, 

Silent and throbbing like a midnight star. 

He raised his hands ; alas ! 't was not in prayer — 

He long had ceased to pray. " Father," he said, 

" I wished to loose some music o'er Thy world, 

To strike from its firm seat some hoary wrong, 

And then to die in autumn, with the flowers, 

And leaves, and sunshine, I have loved so well. 

Thou might'st have smoothed my way to some great 

end — 

But wherefore speak ? Thou art the mighty God. 
This gleaming wilderness of suns and worlds 
Is an eternal and triumphant hymn, 
Chanted by Thee unto Thine own great self ! 
Wrapt in thy skies, what were my prayers to Thee ? 
My pangs ? My tears of blood ? They could not move 
Thee from the depths of Thine immortal dream. 
Thou hast forgotten me, God ! Here, therefore here, 
To-night upon this bleak and cold hill-side, 
Like a forsaken watch-fire will I die, 
And as my pale corse fronts the glittering night, 
It shall reproach Thee before all Thy worlds." 
His death did not disturb that ancient Night. 
Scornfullest night ! Over the dead there hung 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. Ill 

Great gulfs of silence, blue, and strewn with stars — 
No sound, no motion, in the eternal depths. 

EDWARD. 

Now, what a sullen-blooded fool was this, 

At sulks with earth and Heaven ! Could he not 

Out-weep his passion like a blustering day, 

And be clear-skied thereafter ? He, poor wretch, 

Must needs be famous ! Lord ! how Poets geek 

At Fame, their idol. Call 't a worthless thing, 

Colder than lunar rainbows, change fuller 

Than sleeked purples on a pigeon's neck, 

More transitory than a woman's loves, 

The bubbles of her heart — and yet each mocker 

Would gladly sell his soul for one sweet crumb 

To roll beneath his tongue. 

WALTER. 

Alas ! the youth, 
Earnest as flame, could not so tame his heart 
As to live quiet days. When the heart-sick Earth 
Turns her broad back upon the gaudy sun, 
And stoops her weary forehead to the night, 
To struggle with her sorrow all alone, 
The moon, that patient sufferer, pale with pain, 
Presses her cold lips on her sister's brow, 



112 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

Till she is calm. But in his sorrow's night 

He found no comforter. A man can bear 

A world's contempt when he has that within 

Which says he 's worthy — when he contemns himself, 

There burns the hell. So this wild youth was foiled 

In a great purpose — in an agony, 

In which he learned to hate and scorn himself, 

He foamed at God, and died. 

MR. WILMOTT. 

Eain similes upon his corse like tears — 
The youth you spoke of was a glowing moth, 
Born in the eve and crushed before the dawn. 

VIOLET. 

He was, methinks, like that frail flower that comes 
Amid the nips and gusts of churlish March, 
Drinking pale beauty from sweet April's tears, 
Dead on the hem of May. 

EDWARD. 

A Lapland fool, 
Who, staring upward as the Northern Lights 
Banner the skies with glory, breaks his heart, 
Because his smoky hut and greasy furs 
Are not so rich as they. 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE -DRAM A. 113 

ARTHUR. 

Mine is pathetic — 
A ginger-beer bottle burst. 

Walter [aside). 

And mine would be 
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night. 

[Mr. Wil3Iott, Arthur, and Edward, converse ; 
Violet approaches Walter. 

violet. 
Did you know well that youth of whom you spake ? 

WALTER. 

Know him ! 0, yes, I knew him as myself — 
Two passions dwelt at once within his soul, 
Like eve and sunset dwelling in one sky. 
And as the sunset dies along the west, 
Eve higher lifts her front of trembling stars r 
Till she is seated in the middle sky, 
So gradual, one passion slowly died, 
And from its death the other drew fresh life, 
Until 't was seated in his soul alone : 
The dead was Love — the living, Poetry. 

VIOLET. 

Alas ! if Love rose never from the dead. 
8 



114 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENEVIII. 

WALTER. 

Between him and the lady of his love 

There stood a wrinkled worldling ripe for hell. 

When with his golden hand he plucked that flower, 

And would have smelt it, lo ! it paled and shrank, 

And withered in his grasp. And when she died, 

The rivers of his heart ran all to waste ; 

They found no ocean, dry sands sucked them up. 

Lady ! he was a fool — a pitiful fool. 

She said she loved him, would be dead in spring — 

She asked him but to stand beside her grave — 

She said she would be daisies — and she thought 

'T would give her joy to feel that he was near. 

She died like music ; and, would you believe 't ? 

He kept her foolish words within his heart 

As ceremonious as a chapel keeps 

A relic of a saint. And in the spring 

The doting idiot went ! 

VIOLET. 

What found he there ? 

WALTER. 

Laugh till your sides ache ! 0, he went, poor fool ! 
But he found nothing save red trampled clay, 
And a dull sobbing rain. Do you not laugh ? 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 115 

Amid the comfortless rain he stood and wept, 
Bare-headed in the mocking, pelting rain. 
He might have known 5 t was ever so on earth. 

VIOLET. 

You cannot laugh yourself, Sir, nor can I. 
Her unpolluted corse doth sleep in earth, 
Like a pure thought within a sinful soul. 
Dearer is earth to God for her sweet sake. 

WALTER. 

'T is said our nature is corrupt ; but she 
O'erlaid hers with all graces, even as Night 
Wears such a crowd of jewels on her face, 
You cannot see 't is black. 

VIOLET. 

How looked this youth ? 
Did he in voice or mien resemble you ? 
Was he about your age ? Wore he such curls ? 
Such eyes of dark sea-blue ? 

WALTER. 

Why do you ask ? 

VIOLET. 

I thought just now you might resemble him. 



116 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

Were you not brothers ? — twins ? Or was the one 
A shadow of the other ? 

WALTER. 

What mean you ? 

VIOLET. 

That like the moon you need not wrap yourself 
In any cloud ; you shine through each disguise ; 
You are a masker in a mask of glass. 
You Ve such transparent sides, each casual eye 
May see the heaving heart. 



WALTER. 

0, misery ! 



Is 't visible to thee ? 



VIOLET. 

'T is clear as dew ! 
Mine eyes have been upon it all the night, 
Unknown to you. 

WALTER. 

The sorrowful alone 
Can know the sorrowful. What woe is thine, 
That thou canst read me thus ? 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 117 

VIOLET. 

A new-born power, 
Whose unformed features cannot clearly show 
Whether 'tis Joy or Sorrow. But the years 
May nurture it to either. 

WALTER. 

To thee I 'm bare. 
My heart lies open to you, as the earth 
To the omniscient sun. I have a work — 
The ringer of my soul doth point it out ; 
I trust God's finger points it also out. 
I must attempt it ; if my sinews fail, 
On my unsheltered head men's scorns will fall 
Like a slow shower of fire. Yet if one tear 
Were mingled with them, it were less to bear. 

VIOLET. 

I '11 give thee tears — 

WALTER. 

That were as queenly Night 
Would loosen all the jewels from her hair, 
And hail them on this sordid thing, the earth. 
Thy tears keep for a worthier head than mine. 

VIOLET. 

I will not cope with you in compliment. 



118 A • LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE VIII. 

I '11 give you tears, and pity, and true thoughts. 

If you are desolate, my heart is open ; 

I know 'tis little worth, but any hut, 

However poor, unto a homeless man, 

Is welcomer than mists or nipping winds. 

But if you conquer Fame 

WALTER. 

With eager hands 
1 11 bend the awful thing into a crown, 
And you will wear it. 

VIOLET. 

0, no, no ! 
Lay it upon her grave. [Another silence. 

ARTHUR. 

Eun out again ! 
We should be jovial as the feasting gods. 
We 're silent as a synod of the stars ! 
The night is out at elbows. Laughter 's dead. 
To the rescue, Violet ! A song ! a song ! 

violet sings. 
Upon my knee a modern minstrel's tales, 

Full as a choir with music, lies unread ; 
My impatient shallop flaps its silken sails 

To rouse me, but I cannot lift my head. 



SCENE VIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 119 

I see a wretched isle, that ghost-like stands 
Wrapt in its mist-shroud in the wintry main ; 

And now a cheerless gleam of red-ploughed lands, 
O'er which a crow flies heavy in the rain. 

I 've neither heart nor voice ! 

[Rises and draws the curtain. 
You Ve sat the night out, Masters ! See, the moon 
Lies stranded on the pallid coast of morn. 

ARTHUR. 

Methinks our merriment lies stranded, too. 

Draw the long table for a game of bowls, 

You will be captain, Edward, — Gods ! he yawns. 

[To Walter. 
Your thunder, Jove, has soured these cream-pots all. 

MR. WILMOTT. 

To bed ! to bed ! 



SCENE IX. 

A Lawn — Sunset — Walter lying at Violet's feet. 

VIOLET. 

You loved, then, very much this friend of thine ? 

WALTER. 

The sound of his voice did warm my heart like wine. 
He 's long since dead ; but if there is a heaven, 
He 's in its heart of bliss. 

VIOLET. 

How did you live ? 

WALTER. 

We read and wrote together, slept together ; 
We dwelt on slopes against the morning sun, 
We dwelt in crowded streets, and loved to walk 
While Labor slept ; for, in the ghastly dawn, 
The wildered city seemed a demon's brain, 



SCENE IX.] A LIFE-DKA3IA. ]21 

The children of the night its evil thoughts. 

Sometimes we sat whole afternoons, and watched 

The sunset build a city frail as dream, 

With bridges, streets of splendor, towers ; and saw 

The fabrics crumble into rosy ruins, 

And then grow gray as heath. But our chief joy 

Was to draw images from everything ; 

And images lay thick upon our talk, 

As shells on ocean sands. 

VIOLET. 

From everything ! 
Here is the sunset, yonder grows the moon, — ? 
What image would you draw from these ? 

WALTER. 

Why, this : 
The sun is dying like a cloven king 
In his own blood; the while the distant moon, 
Like a pale prophetess, whom he has wronged, 
Leans eager forward, with most hungry eyes, 
Watching him bleed to death, and, as he faints, 
She brightens and dilates ; revenge complete, 
She walks in lonely triumph through the night. 

VIOLE'J. 

Give not such hateful passion to the orb 



122 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IX. 

That cools the heated lands ; that ripes the fields, 
While sleep the husbandmen, then hastes away 
Ere the first step of dawn, doing all good 
In secret and the night. 'T is very wrong. 
Would I had known your friend ! 



'T is better as it is. 



WALTER. 

Iconoclast ! 



VIOLET. 

Why is it so ? 



WALTER. 

Because you would have loved him, and then I 

Would have to wander outside of all joy, 

Like Neptune in the cold. [A pause. 



VIOLET. 

Do you remember 



You promised yesterday you 'd paint for me 
Three pictures from your life ? 



WALTER. 

I '11 do so now. 
On this delicious eve, with, words like colors, 
I '11 limn them on the canvas of your sense. 



SCEXE IX.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 123 

VIOLET. 

Be quick ! be quick ! for see, the parting sun 
But peers above yon range of crimson hills, 
Taking his last look of this lovely scene. 
Dusk will be here anon. 

WALTER. 

And all the stars ! 

VIOLET. 

Great friends of yours ; you love them overmuch. 

WALTER. 

I love the stars too much ! The tameless sea 

Spreads itself out beneath them, smooth as glass. 

You cannot love them, lady, till you dwell 

In mighty towns ; immured in their black hearts, 

The stars are nearer to you than the fields. 

I 'd grow an Atheist in these towns of trade, 

Were 't not for stars. The smoke puts heaven out ; 

I meet sin-bloated faces in the streets, 

And shrink as from a blow. I hear wild oaths, 

And curses spilt from lips that once were sweet, 

And sealed for Heaven by a mother's kiss. 

I mix with men whose hearts of human flesh, 

Beneath the petrifying touch of gold, 

Have grown as stony as the trodden ways. 



124 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IX. 

I see no trace of God, till in the night, 

While the vast city lies in dreams of gain, 

He doth reveal himself to me in heaven. 

My heart swells to Him as the sea to the moon ; 

Therefore it is I love the midnight stars. 

VIOLET. 

1 would I had a lover who could give 
Such ample reasons for his loving me 
As you for loving stars ! But to your task. 

WALTER. 

Wilt listen to the pictures from my life ? 

VIOLET. 

Patient as evening to the nightingale ! 

WALTER. 

'Mong the green lanes of Kent — green sunny lanes — 
Where troops of children shout, and laugh, and play, 
And gather daisies, stood an antique home, 
Within its orchard, rich with ruddy fruits ; 
For the full year was laughing in his prime. 
Wealth of all flowers grew in that garden green, 
And the old porch with its great oaken door 
Was smothered in rose-blooms, while o'er the walls 
The honeysuckle clung deliciously. 



SCENE IX.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 125 

Before the door there lay a plot of grass, 

Snowed o'er with daisies, — flower by all beloved, 

And famousest in song, — and in the midst, 

A carved fountain stood, dried up and broken, 

On which a peacock perched and sunned itself; 

Beneath, two petted rabbits, snowy white, 

Squatted upon the sward. 

A row of poplars darkly rose behind, 

Around whose tops, and the old-fashioned vanes, 

White pigeons fluttered ; and o'er all was bent 

The mighty sky, with sailing sunny clouds. 

One casement was thrown open, and within 

A boy hung o'er a book of poesy, 

Silent as planet hanging o'er the sea. 

In at the casement open to the noon 

Came sweetest garden odors, and the hum — 

The drowsy hum — of the rejoicing bees, 

Heavened in blooms that overclad the walls ; 

And the cool wind waved in upon his brow, 

And stirred his curls. Soft fell the summer night. 

Then he arose, and with inspired lips said, — 

" Stars ! ye are golden-voiced clarions 

To high-aspiring and heroic dooms. 

To-night, as I look up unto ye, Stars ! 

I feel my soul rise to its destiny, 

Like a strong eagle to its eyrie soaring. 

Who thinks of weakness underneath ye, Stars ? 



126 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IX. 

A hum shall he on earth, a name be heard, 
An epitaph shall look up proud to God. 
Stars ! read and listen, it may not be long." 

violet (leaning over him). 
I '11 see that grand desire within your eyes. 
O, I only see myself! 

WALTER. 

Violet ! 
Could you look through my heart as through mine eyes, 
You 'd find yourself there, too. 

VIOLET. 

Hush, flatterer ! 
Yet go on with your tale. 

WALTER. 

Three blue days passed, 
Full of the sun, loud with a thousand larks ; 
An evening like a gray child walked 'tween each. 
'T was in the quiet of the fourth day's noon, 
The boy I speak of slumbered in the wood. 
Like a dropt rose at an oak-root he lay, 
A lady bent above him. He awoke ; 
She blushed like sunset, 'mid embarrassed speech ; 
A shock of laughter made them friends at once, 



SCENE EX.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 127 

And laughter fluttered through their after-talk, 
As darts a bright bird in and out the leaves. 
All day he drank her splendid light of eyes ; 
Nor did they part until the deepening east 
'Gan to be sprinkled with the light of eve. 



VIOLET. 

Go on ! o-o on ! 



WALTER. 

June sang herself to death. 
They parted in the wood, she very pale ; 
And he walked home the weariest thing on earth. 
That night he sat in his unlighted room, 
Pale, sad and solitary, sick at heart, 
For he had parted with his dearest friends, 
High aspirations, bright dreams golden-winged, 
Troops of fine fancies that like lambs did play 
Amid the sunshine and the virgin dews, 
Thick-lying in the green fields of his heart. 
Calm thoughts that dwelt like hermits in his soul, 
Fair shapes that slept in fancifullest bowers, 
Hopes and delights, — he parted with them all. 
Linked hand in hand they went, tears in their eyes, 
As faint and beautiful as eyes of flowers, 
And now he sat alone with empty soul. 
Last night his soul was like a forest, haunted 



128 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE IX. 

With pagan shapes ; when one nymph slumbering lay, 
A sweet dream 'neath her eyelids, her white limbs 
Sinking full softly in the violets dim ; 
When timbrelled troops rushed past with branches 

green. 
One in each fountain, riched with golden sands, 
With her delicious face a moment seen, 
And limbs faint-gleaming through their watery veil. 
To-night his soul was like that forest old, 
When these were reft away, and the wild wind 
Kunning like one distract 'mong their old haunts, 
Gold-sanded fountains, and the bladed flags. 

[A pause. 
It is enough to shake one into tears. 
A palace full of music was his heart, 
An earthquake rent it open to the rain ; 
The lovely music died — the bright throngs fled — 
Despair came like a foul and grizzly beast, 
And littered in its consecrated rooms. 

Nature was leaping like a Bacchanal 

On the next morn, beneath its sky-wide sheen, 

The boy stood pallid in the rosy porch. 

The mad larks bathing in the golden light, 

The flowers close-fondled by the impassioned winds, 

The smells that came and went upon the sense, 

Like faint waves on a shore, he heeded not ; 



SCENE IX.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 129 

He could not look the morning in the eyes. 
That singing morn he went forth like a ship ; 
Long years have passed, and he has not returned, 
Beggared or laden, home. 

VIOLET. 

Ah, me, 't is sad ! 
And sorrow's hand as well as mine has been 
Among these golden curls. 'T is past, 't is past ; 
It has dissolved, as did the bank of cloud 
That lay in the west last night. 

WALTER. 

I yearned for love, 
As earnestly as sun-cracked summer earth 
Yearns to the heavens for rain — none ever came. 

VIOLET. 

O, say not so ! I love thee very much ; 

Let me but grow up like a sweet-breathed flower 

Within this ghastly fissure of thy heart ! 

Do you not love me, Walter ? 

WALTER. 

By thy tears 
1 love thee as my own immortal soul. 
Weep, weep, my Beautiful ! Upon thy face 
9 



130 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IX. 

There is no cloud of sorrow or distress ; 
It is as moonlight, pale, serene and clear. 
Thy tears are spilt of joy, they fall like rain 
From heaven's stainless blue. 
Bend over me, my Beautiful, my Own. 
0, I could lie with face upturned forever, 
And on thy beauty feed as on a star i 

[Another pause. 
Thy face doth come between me and the heaven — 
Start not, my dearest ! for I would not give 
Thee in thy tears for all yon sky lit up 
For a god's feast to-night. And I am loved ! 
Why did you love me, Violet ? 

VIOLET. 

The sun 
Smiles on the earth, and the exuberant earth 
Returns the smile in flowers — 'twas so with me. 
I love thee as a fountain leaps to light — 
I can do nothing else. 

WALTER. 

Say these words again, 
And yet again ; never fell on my ear 
Such drops of music. 

VIOLET. 

Alas ! poor words are weak ; 



SCENE DC.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 131 

So are the daily ills of common life, 

To draw the ingots and the hoarded pearls 

From out the treasure-caverns of my heart. 

Suffering, despair and death, alone can do it : 

Poor Walter ! [Kisses him. 

WALTER. 

Gods ! I could out- Antony 
Antony ! This moment 1 could scatter 
Kingdoms like halfpence. I am drunk with joy. 
This is a royal hour — the top of life. 
Henceforth my path slopes downward to the grave — 
All 's dross but love. That largest Son of Time, 
Who wandered singing through the listening world, 
Will be as much forgot as the canoe 
That crossed the bosom of a lonely lake 
A thousand years ago. My Beautiful ! 
I would not give thy cheek for all his songs — 
Thy kiss for all his fame. Why do you weep ? 

VIOLET. 

To think that we, so happy now, must die. 

WALTER. 

That thought hangs like a cold and slimy snail 
On the rich rose of love — shake it away — 
Give me another kiss, and I will take 



132 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IX. 

Death at a flying leap. The night is fair, 

But thou art fairer, Violet ! Unloose 

The midnight of thy tresses, let them float 

Around us both. How the freed ringlets reel 

Down to the dewy grass ! Here lean thy head, 

Now you will feel my heart leap 'gainst thy cheek ; 

Imprison me with those white arms of thine. 

So, so. sweet upturned face ! (Kisses her.) If God 

Told you to-night He 'd grant your dearest wish, 

What would it be ? 

VIOLET. 

That He would let you grow 
To your ambition's height. What would be yours ? 

WALTER. 

A greater boon than Satan's forfeit throne ! 
That He would keep us beautiful and young 
Forever, as to-night. 0, I could live 
Unwearied on thy beauty, till the sun 
Grows dim and wrinkled as an old man's face. 
Our cheeks are close, our breaths mix like our souls. 
We have been starved hereto ; Love's banquet spread, 
Now let us feast our fills. 

VIOLET. 

Walter ! 



SCENE X. 

A Bridge in a City — Midnight — Walter alone. 

WALTER. 

Adam lost Paradise — eternal tale 
Repeated in the lives of all his sons* 
I had a shining orb of happiness, 
God gave it me, but sin passed over it 
As small-pox passes o'er a lovely face, 
Leaving it hideous. I have lost forever 
The Paradise of young and happy thoughts, 
And now stand in the middle of my life 
Looking back through my tears — ne'er to return. 
I 've a stern tryst with Death, and must go on, 
Though with slow steps and oft-reverted eyes. 

'T is a thick, rich-hazed, sumptuous autumn night; 
The moon grows like a white flower in the sky ; 
The stars are dim. The tired year rests content 



134 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE X. 

Among her sheaves, as a fond mother rests 

Among her children ; all her work is done. 

There is a weight of peace upon the world ; 

It sleeps : God's blessing on it. Not on me ! 

0, as a lewd dream stains the holy sleep, 

I stain the holy night, yet dare not die ! 

I knew this river's childhood, from the lake 

That gave it birth, till, as if spilt from heaven, 

It floated o'er the face of jet-black rocks, 

Graceful and gauzy as a snowy veil. 

Then we were pure as the blue sky above us, 

Now we are black alike. This stream has turned 

The wheels of commerce, and come forth distained ; 

And now trails slowly through a city's heart, 

Drawing its filth as doth an evil soul 

Attract all evil things ; putrid and black 

It mingles with the clear and stainless sea. 

So into pure eternity my soul 

Will disembogue itself. 

Good men have said 
That sometimes God leaves sinners to their sin, — 
He has left me to mine, and I am changed ; 
My worst part is insurgent, and my will 
Is weak and powerless as a trembling king 
When millions rise up hungry. Woe is me ! 
My soul breeds sins as a dead body worms ! 
They swarm and feed upon me. Hear me, God ! 



SCENE X.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 135 

Sin met me and enbraced me on my way ; 

Methought her cheeks were red, her lips had bloom ; 

I kissed her bold lips, dallied with her hair : 

She sang me into slumber. I awoke — 

It was a putrid corse that clung to me, 

That clings to me like memory to the damned, 

That rots into my being. Father ! God ! 

I cannot shake it off, it clings, it clings ; — 

I soon will grow as corrupt as itself. [A pause. 

God sends me back my prayers, as a father 

Eeturns unoped the letters of a son 

Who has dishonored him. 

Have mercy, Fiend ! 
Thou Devil, thou wilt drag me down to hell. 
0, if she had proclivity to sin 
Who did appear so beauteous and so pure, 
Nature may leer behind a gracious mask. 

And God himself may be 1 'm giddy, blind, 

The world reels from beneath me. 

[Catches hold of the parapet. 
(An Outcast approaches.) Wilt pray for me ? 

girl (shuddering). > 
'T is a dreadful thing to pray. 

WALTER. 

Why is it so ? 



136 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE X. 

Hast thou, like me, a spot upon thy soul 

That neither tears can cleanse, nor fires eterne ? 

GIRL. 

But few request my prayers. 

WALTER. 

I request them. 
For ne'er did a dishevelled woman cling 
So earnest-pale to a stern conqueror's knees, 
Pleading for a dear life, as did my prayer 
Cling to the knees of God. He shook it off, 
And went upon His way. Wilt pray for me ? 

GIRL. 

Sin crusts me o'er as limpets crust the rocks. 
I would be thrust from every human door ; 
I dare not knock at Heaven's. 

WALTER. 

Poor homeless one ! 
There is a door stands wide for thee and me — 
The door of hell. Methinks we are well met. 
I saw a little girl three years ago, 
"With eyes of azure and with cheeks of red, 
A crowd of sunbeams hanging down her face ; 
Sweet laughter round her; dancing like a breeze. 



SCENE X.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 137 

I 'd rather lair me with a fiend in fire 

Than look on such a face as hers to-night. 

But I can look on thee, and such as thee ; 

I '11 call thee " Sister; " do thou call me " Brother." 

A thousand years hence, when we both are damned, 

We '11 sit like ghosts upon the wailing shore, 

And read our lives by the red light of hell. 

Will we not, Sister ? 

GIRL. 

thou strange wild man, 
Let me alone : what would you seek with me ? 

WALTER. 

Your ear, my Sister. I have that within 

Which urges me to utterance. I could accost 

A pensive angel, singing to himself 

Upon a hill in heaven, and leave his mind 

As dark and turbid as a trampled pool, 

To purify at leisure. — I have none 

To listen to me, save a sinful woman 

Upon a midnight bridge. — She was so fair, 

God's eye could rest with pleasure on her face. 

O, God, she was so happy ! Her short life 

As fall of music as the crowded June 

Of an unfallen orb. What is it now ? 

She gave me her young heart, full, full of love : 



138 . A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE X. 

My return — was to break it. Worse, far worse ; 
I crept into the chambers of her soul, 
Like a foul toad, polluting as I went. 

GIRL. 

I pity her — not you. Man trusts in God ; 
He is eternal. Woman trusts in man, 
And he is shifting sand. 

WALTER. 

Poor child, poor child i 
We sat in dreadful silence with our sin, 
Looking each other wildly in the eyes : 
Methought I heard the gates of heaven close, 
She flung herself against me, burst in tears, 
As a wave bursts in spray. She covered me 
With her wild sorrow, as an April cloud 
With dim dishevelled tresses hides the hill 
On which its heart is breaking. She clung to me 
With piteous arms, and shook me with her sobs ; 
For she had lost her world, her heaven, her God, 
And now had naught but me and her great wrong. 
She did not kill me with a single word, 
But once she lifted her tear-dabbled face — 
Had hell gaped at my feet I would have leapt 
Into its burning throat, from that pale look. 
Still it pursues me like a haunting fiend ; 



SCENE X.] A LIFE -DRAMA. 139 

It drives me out to the black moors at night, 

Where I am smitten by the hissing rain, 

And ruffian winds, dislodging from their troops, 

Hustle me shrieking, then with sudden turn 

Go laughing to their fellows. Merciful God ! 

It comes — that face again, that white, white face, 

Set in a night of hair ; reproachful eyes, 

That make me mad. 0, save me from those eyes ! 

They will torment me even in the grave, 

And burn on me in Tophet. 

GIRL. 

Where are you going ? 

WALTER. 

My heart's on fire by hell, and on I drive 
To outer blackness, like a blazing ship. 

[He rushes away. 



SCENE XI. 

Night, — Walter standing alone in his garden. 

WALTER. 

Summer hath murmured with her leafy lips 

Around my home, and I have heard her not; 

I Ve missed the process of three several years, 

From shaking wind-flowers to the tarnished gold 

That rustles sere on Autumn's aged limbs. 

I went three years ago, and now return, 

As stag sore-hunted a long summer day 

Creeps in the eve to its deep forest-home. [A pause. 

This is my home again ! Once more I hail 

The dear old gables and the creaking vanes. 

It stands all flecked with shadows in the moon, 

Patient, and white and woful. 'T is so still, 

It seems to brood upon its youthful years, 

When children sported on its ringing floors, 

And music trembled through its happy rooms. 



SCENE XI.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 141 

'T was here I spent my youth, as far removed 

From the great heavings, hopes, and fears of man, 

As unknown isle asleep in unknown seas. 

Gone my pure heart, and with it happy days ; 

No manna falls around me from on high, 

Barely from off the desert of my life 

I gather patience and severe content. 

God is a worker. He has thickly strewn 

Infinity with grandeur. God is love ; 

He yet shall wipe away Creation's tears, 

And all the worlds shall summer in His smile. 

Why work 1 not ? The veriest mote that sports 

Its one-day life within the sunny beam 

Ha s its stern duties. Wherefore have I none ? 

I will throw off this dead and useless past, 

As a strong runner, straining for his life, 

Unclasps a mantle to the hungry winds. 

A mighty purpose rises large and slow 

From out the fluctuations of my soul, 

As, ghost-like, from the dim and tumbling sea 

Starts the completed moon. [Another pause. 

I have a heart to dare, 
And spirit-thews to work my daring out ; 
I '11 cleave the world as a swimmer cleaves the sea, 
Breaking the sleek green billows into froth, 
With tilting full-blown chest, and scattering 
With scornful breath the kissing, nattering foam, 



142 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE XI. 

That leaps and dallies with his dipping lip. 

Thou 'rt distant, now, World ! I hear thee not ; 

There 's no pale fringes of thy fires to-night 

Around the large horizon. Yet, O World ! 

I have thee in my power, and as a man 

By some mysterious influence can sway 

Another's mind, making him laugh and weep, 

Shudder or thrill, such power have I on thee. 

Much have I suffered, both from thee and thine ; 

Thou shalt not 'scape me, World ! I '11 make thee weep ; 

I '11 make my lone thought cross thee like a spirit, 

And blanch thy braggart cheeks, lift up thy hair, 

And make thy great knees tremble ; I will send 

Across thy soul dark herds of demon dreams, 

And make thee toss and moan in troubled sleep ; 

And, waking, I will fill thy forlorn heart 

With pure and happy thoughts, as summer woods 

Are full of singing-birds. I come from far, 

I '11 rest myself, World ! a while on thee, 

And half in earnest, half in jest, I '11 cut 

My name upon thee, pass the arch of Death, 

Then on a stair of stars go up to God. 



SCENE XII. 

An Apartment — Charles and Edward seated. 

EDWARD. 

Have you seen Walter lately ? 

CHARLES. 

Very much ; 
I wintered with him. 

EDWARD. 

What was he about ? 

CHARLES. 

He wrote his Poem then. 

EDWARD 

That was a hit ! 
The world is murmuring like a hive of bees ; 



144 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE XII 

He is its theme — to-morrow it may change. 
Was it done at a dash ? 



CHARLES. 

It was ; each word sincere, 
As blood-drops from the heart. The full-faced moon, 
Set round with stars, in at his casement looked, 
And saw him write and write : and when the moon 
Was waning dim upon the edge of morn, 
Still sat he writing, thoughtful-eyed and pale ; 
And, as of yore, round his white temples reeled 
His golden hair, in ringlets beautiful. 
Great joy he had, for thought came glad and thick 
As leaves upon a tree in primrose-time ; 
And as he wrote his task the lovelier grew, 
Like April unto May, or as a child, 
A-smile in the lap of life, by fine degrees 
Orbs to a maiden, walking with meek eyes 
In atmosphere of beauty round her breathed. 
He wrote all winter in an olden room, 
Hallowed with glooms and books. Priests who have 

wed 
Their makers unto Fame, Moons that have shed 
Eternal halos around England's head ; 
Books dusky and thumbed without, within, a sphere 
Smelling of Spring, as genial, fresh, and clear, 
And beautiful as is the rainbowed air 



SCENE XII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 145 

After May showers. Within this pleasant lair 
He passed in writing all the winter moons ; 
But when May came, with train of sunny noons, 
He chose a leafy summer-house within 
The greenest nook in all his garden green ; 
Oft a fine thought would flush his face divine, 
As he had quaffed a cup of olden wine, 
Which deifies the drinker : oft his face 
Gleamed like a spirit's in that shady place, 
While he saw, smiling upward from the scroll, 
The image of the thought within his soul ; 
There, 'mid the waving shadows of the trees, 
'Mong garden-odors and the hum of bees, 
He wrote the last and closing passages. 
He is not happy. 

EDWARD. 

Has he told you so ? 

CHARLES. 

Not in plain terms. Oft an unhappy thought, 
Telling all is not well, falls from his soul 
Like a diseased feather from the wing 
Of a sick eagle ; a scorched meteor-stone 
Dropt from the ruined moon. 
10 



146 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE XII. 

EDWARD. 

What are these thoughts ? 

CHARLES. 

I walked with him upon a windy night ; 
We saw the streaming moon flee through the sky- 
Pursued by all the dark and hungry clouds. 
He stopped and said : "Weariness feeds on all. 
That vampire, Time, shall yet suck dim the sun. 
God wearies, and so makes a universe, 
And gathers angels round Him. — He is weak ; 
I weary, and so wreak myself in verse. 
Which but relieves me as a six-inch pipe 
Relieves the dropsied sea. 0, for mad War ! 
I 'd give my next twelve years to head but once 
Ten thousand horse in a victorious charge. 
Give me some one to hate, and let me chase 
Him through the zones, and finding him at last, 
Make his accursed eyes leap on his cheeks, 
And his face blacken, with one choking gripe." 

EDWARD. 

Savage enough, i' faith ! 

CHARLES. 

He often said, 



SCENE XII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 147 

His strivings after Poesy and Fame 

Were vain as turning blind eyes on the sun. 

His Book came out ; I told him that the world 

Hailed him a poet. He said, with feeble smile, 

11 1 have arisen like a dawn — the world, 

Like the touched Memnon, murmurs — that is all." 

He said, as we were lying on the moss 

(A forest sounding o'er us, like a sea 

Above two mermen seated on the sands), 

"Our human hearts are deeper than our souls, 

And Love than Knowledge is diviner food — 

O, Charles ! if God will ever send to thee 

A heart that loves thee, reverence that heart. 

We think that Death is hard, when he can kill 

An infant smiling in his very face : 

Harder was I than Death. — In cup of sin 

I did dissolve thee, thou most precious pearl, 

Then drank thee up." We sat one eve, 

Gazing in silence on the falling sun : 

We saw him sink. Upon the silent world, 

Like a fine veil, came down the tender gloom ; 

A dove came fluttering round the window, flew 

Away, and then came fluttering back. He said, 

" As that dove flutters round the casement, comes 

A pale shape round my soul ; I 've done it wrong, 

I never will be happy till I ope 



148 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE XII. 

My heart and take it in." — ' T was ever so ; 
To some strange sorrow all his thoughts did tend, 
Like waves unto a shore. Dost know his grief? 

EDWARD. 

I dimly guess it ; a rich cheek grew pale, 

A happy spirit singing on her way 

Grew mute as winter. Walter, mad and blind, 

Threw off the world, God, unclasped pleading arms, 

Rushed wild through Pleasure and through Devil- world, 

Till he fell down exhausted. — Do you know 

If he believes in God ? 

CHARLES. 

He told me once, 
The saddest thing that can befall a soul 
Is when it loses faith in God and Woman ; 
For he had lost them both. — Lost I those gems — 
Though the world's throne stood empty in my path, 
I would go wandering back into my childhood, 
Searching for them with tears. 

EDWARD. 

Let him go 
Alone upon his waste and dreary road. 
He will return to the old faith he learned 



SCENE XII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 149 

Beside his mother's knee. That memory 
That haunts him, as the sweet and gracious moon 
Haunts the poor outcast Earth, will lead him back 
To happiness and God. 

CHARLES. 

May it be so ! 



SCENE XIII. 

Afternoon. — Walter and Violet entering the garden 
from the house. 

VIOLET. 

This is the dwelling you have told me of, — 
Summer again hath dressed its bloomy walls, 
Its fragrant front is populous with bees ; 
This is the garden — all is very like, 
And yet unlike the picture in my heart; 
I know not which is loveliest. I see 
Afar the wandering beauty of the stream, 
And nearer I can trace it as it shows 
Its broad and gleaming back among the woods. 
Is that the wood you slept in ? 

WALTER. 

That is it, 



SCENE XIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 151 

And every nook and glade and tangled dell, 

From its wide circle to its leafy heart, 

Is as familiar to me as my soul. 

Memories dwell like doves among the trees, 

Like nymphs in glooms, like naiads in the wells ; 

And some are sweet, and sadder some than death. 

[4 pause. 
I could have sworn the world did sing in air, 
I was so happy once. The eagle drinks 
The keen blue morning, and the morn was mine. 
I bathed in sunset, and to me the night 
Was a perpetual wonder and an awe. 
Oft, as I lay on earth and gazed at her, 
The gliding moon with influence divine 
Would draw a most delicious tide of tears 
And spill it o'er my eyes. Sadness was joy 
Of but another sort. My happiness 
Was flecked with vague and transitory griefs, 
As sweetly as the shining length of June 
With evanescent eves ; and through my soul 
At intervals a regal pageant passed, 
As through the palpitating streets the corse 
Of a great chieftain, rolled in music rich, 
Moves slowly towards its rest. In these young days 
Existence was to me sufficient joy ; 
At once a throne and kingdom, crown and lyre. 
Xow it is but a strip of barren sand, 



152 A LIFE-DHAMA. [SCENE XIII. 

On which with earnest heart I strive to rear 
A temple to the gods. I will not sadden you. 

[They move on. 
This is the fountain : once it flashed and sang 
(Possessed of such exuberance of joy) 
To golden sunrise, the blue day, and when 
The night grew gradual o'er it, star by star, — 
Now it is mute as Memnon. 

VIOLET. 

Sad again ! 
Its brim is written over — o'er and o'er ; 
'T is mute ; but have you made its marble lips 
As sweet as Music's ? 

WALTER. 

Miserable words ! 
The offspring of some most unhappy hours. 
To me this fountain's brim is sad as though 
'T were splashed with my own blood. 

violet (reads). 

"Nature" cares not 
Although her loveliness should ne'er be seen 
By human eyes, nor praised by human tongues. 
The cataract exults among the hills, 
And wears its crown of rainbows all alone. 



SCENE XIII.] A LIFE -DRAMA. 153 

Libel the ocean on his tawny sands, 

Write verses in his praise, — the unmoved sea 

Erases both alike. Alas for man ! 

Unless his fellows can behold his deeds 

He cares not to be great." 'T is very true. 

The next is written in a languid hand : 

" Sin has drunk up my pleasure, as eclipse 

Drinks up the sunlight. On my spirit lies 

A malison and ban. What though the Spring 

Makes all the hills and valleys laugh in green, — 

Is the sea healed, or is the plover's cry 

Merry upon the moor ? I now am kin 

To these, and winds, and ever-suffering things." 

0, 1 could blot these words out with my tears ! 

WALTER. 

So could I when I WTote them. 

VIOLET. 

What is the next ? 
" A sin lies dead and dreadful in my soul, 
Why should I gaze upon it day by day ? 
0, rather, since it cannot be destroyed, 
Let me as reverently cover it 
As w^ith a cloak we cover up the dead, 
And place it in some chamber of my soul, 



154 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE XIII. 

Where it may lie unseen as sound, yet felt, — 
Making life hushed and awful." 



WALTER. 

No more. No more. 
Let God wash out this record with His rain ! 
This is the summer-house. [They enter. 

It is as sweet 
As if enamored Summer did adorn 
It for his Love to dwell in. I love to sit 
And hear the pattering footsteps of the shower, 
As he runs over it, or watch at noon 
The curious sunbeams peeping through the leaves. 

VIOLET. 

I Ve always pictured you in such a place 

Writing your Book, and hurrying on, as if 

You had a long and wondrous tale to tell, 

And felt Death's cold hand closing round your heart. 

WALTER. 

Have you read my book ? 

VIOLET. 

I have. 



SCENE XIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 155 

■WALTER. 

It is enough. 
The Book was only written for two souls, 
And they are thine and mine. 

VIOLET. 

For many weeks, 
When I was dwelling by the moaning sea, 
Your name was blown to me on every wind, 
And I was glad ; for by that sign I knew 
You had fulfilled your heart, and hoped you would 
Put off the robes of sorrow, and put on 
The singing crown of Fame. One dreary morn 
Your Book came to me, and I fondled it, 
As though it were a pigeon sent from thee 
With love beneath its wing. I read and read 
Until the sun lifted his cloudy lids 
And shot wild light along the leaping deep, 
Then closed his eyes in death. I shed no tear. 
I laid it down in silence, and went forth 
Burdened with its sad thoughts : slowly I went ; 
And, as I wandered through the deepening gloom, 
I saw the pale and penitential moon 
Rise from dark waves that plucked at her, and go 
Sorrowful up the sky. Then gushed my tears — 
The tangled problem of my life was plain — 
I cried aloud, "0, would he come to me ! 



156 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE XIII. 

I know he is unhappy ; that he strives 

As fiercely as that blind and desperate sea, 

Clutching with all his waves — in vain, in vain. 

He never will be happy till he comes." 

As I went home the thought that you would come 

Filled my lorn heart with gladness, as the moon 

Filled the great vacant night with moonlight, till 

Its silver bliss ran o'er — so after prayer 

I slept in the lap of peace — next morn you came. 

WALTER. 

And then I found you beautiful and pale — 

Pale as that moonlight night ! O Violet, 

I have been undeceived. In my hot youth 

I kissed the painted bloom off Pleasure's lips 

And found them pale as Pain's, — and wept aloud. 

Never henceforward can I hope to drain 

The rapture of a lifetime at a gulp. 

My happiness is not a troubled joy; 

'T is deep, serene as death. The sweet contents, 

The happy thoughts from which I 've been estranged, 

Again come round me, as the old known peers 

Surround and welcome a repentant spirit, 

Who by the steps of sorrow hath regained 

His throne and golden prime. The eve draws nigh ! 

The prosperous sun is in the west, and sees 

From the pale east to where he sets in bliss, 



SCENE XIII.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 157 

His long road glorious. Wilt thou sing, my love, 
And sadden me into a deeper joy ? 

violet sings. 
The wondrous ages pass like rushing waves, 
Each crowned with its own foam. Bards die, and 

Fame 
Hangs like a pallid meteor o'er their graves. 
Religions change, and come and go like flame. 

Nothing remains but Love : the world's round mass 
It doth pervade, all forms of life it shares, 
The institutions that like moments pass 
Are but the shapes the masking spirit wears. 
Love is a sanctifier ; 't is a moon, 
Turning each dusk to silver. A pure light, 

Redeemer of all errors 

[Ceases, and bursts into tears. 

WALTER. 

What ails you, Violet ? 
Has music stung you like a very snake ? 
Why do you weep ? 

VIOLET. 

Walter ! dost thou believe 
Love will redeem all errors ? 0, my friend, 



158 A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE XIIL 

This gospel saves you ! doubt it, you are lost. 
Deep in the mists of sorrow long I lay, 
Hopeless and still, when suddenly this truth 
Like a slant sunbeam quivered through the mist, 
And turned it into radiance. In the light 
I wrote these words, while you were far away 
Fighting with shadows. O ! Walter, in one boat 
We floated o'er the smooth, moon-silvered sea*; 
The sky was smiling with its orbs of bliss ; 
And while we lived within each other's eyes, 
We struck and split, and all the world was lost 
In one wild whirl of horror darkening down ; 
At last I gained a deep and silent isle, 
Moaned on by a dim sea, and wandered round 
Week after week the happy-mournful shore, 
Wondering if you had 'scaped. 

WALTER. 

Thou noble soul, 
Teach me, if thou art nearer God than I ! 
My life was a long dream ; when I awoke, 
Duty stood like an angel in my path, 
And seemed so terrible, I could have turned 
Into my yesterdays, and wandered back 
To distant childhood, and gone out to God 
By the gate of birth, not death. Lift, lift me up 
By thy sweet inspiration, as the tide 



SCENE XIII.] A LIFE-DRAIUA. 159 

Lifts up a stranded boat upon the beach. 

I will go forth 'mong men, not mailed in scorn, 

But in the armor of a pure intent. 

Great duties are before me and great songs, 

And whether crowned or crownless when I fall, 

It matters not, so as God's work is done. 

I Ve learned to prize the quiet lightning-deed, 

Not the applauding thunder at its heels 

Which men call Fame. Our night is past; 

We stand in precious sunrise, and beyond 

A long day stretches to the very end. 

Look out, my beautiful, upon the sky ! 

Even puts on her jewels. Look ! she sets, 

Venus upon her brow. I never gaze 

Upon the evening but a tide of awe, 

And love, and wonder, from the Infinite, 

Swells up within me, as the running brine 

From the smooth-glistening, wide-heaving sea, 

Grows in the creeks and channels of a stream 

Until it threats its banks. It is not joy, 

'T is sadness more divine. 

VIOLET. 

How quick they come, — 
World after world ! See the great moon above 
Yon undistinguishable clump of trees 
Is slowly from the darkness gathering light ! 
You used to love the moon ! 



160 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE XIII. 

WALTER. 

This mournful wind 
Has surely been with Winter, 't is so cold. 
The dews are falling, Violet ! Your cloak — 
Draw it around you. Let the still night shine ! 
A star 's a cold thing to a human heart, 
And love is better than their radiance, Come ! 
Let us go in together. 



AN EVENING AT HOME. 



To-day a chief was buried — let him rest. 
His country's bards are up like larks, and fill 
With singing the wide heavens of his fame. 
To-night I sit within my lonely room, 
The atmosphere is full of misty rain, 
Wretched the earth and heaven. Yesterday 
The streets and squares were choked with yellow fogs* 
To-morrow we may all be drenched in sleet ! 
Stretched like a homeless beggar on the ground, 
The city sleeps amid the misty rain. 
Though Rain hath pitched his tent above my head, 
'T is but a speck upon the happy world. 
Since I Ve began to trace these lines, Sunrise 
Has struck a land and woke its bleating hills ; 
Afar upon some black and silent moor 
The crystal stars are shaking in the wind ; 
An ocean gurgles, for the stooping moon 
11 



162 AN EVENING AT HOME. 

Hath kissed him into peace, and now she smooths 

The well-pleased monster with her silver hand. 

Come, naked, gleaming Spring! great crowds of larks 

Fluttering above thy head, thy happy ears 

Loud with their ringing songs, Bright Saviour, come ! 

And kill old Winter with thy glorious look, 

And turn his corse to flowers ! 

I sit to-night 
As dreary as the pale, deserted East, 
That sees the Sun, the Sun that once was hers, 
Forgetful of her, flattering his new love, 
The happy-blushing West. In these long streets 
Of traffic and of noise, the human hearts 
Are hard and loveless as a wreck-strewn coast. 
Eternity doth wear upon her face 
The veil of Time. They only see the veil, 
And thus they know not what they stand so near. 
0, rich in gold ! Beggars in heart and soul ! 
Poor as the empty void ! Why, even I, 
Sitting in this bare chamber with my thoughts, 
Am richer than ye all, despite your bales, 
Your streets of warehouses, your mighty mills, 
Each booming like a world faint heard in space ; 
Your ships ; unwilling fires, that day and night 
Writhe in your service seven years, then die 
Without one taste of peace. Do ye believe 



AN EVENING AT HOME. 163 

A simple primrose on a grassy bank 

Forth-peeping to the sun, a wild bird's nest, 

The great orb dying in a ring of clouds, — 

Like hoary Jacob 'mong his waiting sons, — 

The rising moon, and the young stars of God, 

Are things to love ! With these my soul is brimmed ; 

With a diviner and serener joy 

Than all thy heaven of money-bags can bring 

Thy dry heart, Worldling ! 

The terror-stricken rain 
Flings itself wildly on the window-panes, 
Imploring shelter from the chasing wind. 
Alas ! to-night in this wide waste of streets 
It beats on human limbs as well as walls ! 
God led Eve forth into the empty world 
From Paradise. Could our great Mother come 
And see her children now, what sight were worst, 
A worker woke by cruel Day, the while 
A kind dream feeds with sweetest phantom-bread 
Him and his famished ones ; or, when the Wind, 
With shuddering fingers, draws the veil of smoke, 
And scares her with a battle's bleeding face ? 

Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time 
Is England. England ! 0, I know a tale 
Of those far summers when she lay in the sun, 



164 AN EVENING AT HOME. 

Listening to her own larks, with growing limbs, 

And mighty hands, which since have tamed the world, 

Dreaming about their tasks. This dreary night 

I '11 tell the story to my listening heart. 

I sang 't to thee, O unforgotten Friend ! 

(Who dwellest now on breezy English downs, 

While I am drowning in the hateful smoke) 

Beside the river which I long have loved. 

happy Days ! happy, happy Past! 

O Friend ! I am a lone benighted ship ; 

Before me hangs the vast untravelled gloom. 

Behind a wake of splendor fading fast 

Into the hungry gloom from whence it came. 

Two days the Lady gazed toward the west, 

The way that he had gone ; and when the third 

From its high noon sloped to a rosy close, 

Upon the western margin of the isle, 

Feeding her petted swans by tossing bread 

Among the clumps of water-lilies white, 

She stood. The fond Day pressed against her face ; 

His amorous, airy fingers with her robe 

Fluttered and played, and trembling touched her throat, 

And toying with her ringlets could have died 

Upon her sweet lips and her happy cheeks ! 

With a long rippling sigh she turned away, 

And wished the sun was underneath the hills. 



AM EVENING AT HOME. 165 

Anon she sang, and ignorant Solitude, 

Astonished at the marvel of her voice, 

Stood tranced and mute as savage at the door 

Of rich cathedral when the organ rolls, 

And all the answering choirs awake at once. 

Then she sat down and thought upon her love ; 

Fed on the various wonders of his face, 

To make his absence rich. " 'T is but three days 

Since he went from me in his light canoe, 

And all the world went with him; and to-night 

He will be back again. 0, when he comes, 

And when my head is laid upon his breast, 

And in the pauses of the sweetest storm 

Of kisses that e'er beat upon a face, 

I '11 tell him how I 've pined, and sighed, and wept, 

And thought of those sweet days and nights that flew 

O'er us unheeded as a string of swans, 

That wavers down the sky toward the sea, — 

And he will chide me into blissful tears, 

Then kiss the tears away." Quick leapt she up. 

" He comes ! he comes ! " She laughed and clapt her 

hands. 
A light canoe came dancing o'er the lake, 
And he within it gave a cry of joy. 
She sent an answer back that drew him on. 
The swans are scared, — the lilies rippled, — now 
Her happy face is hidden in his breast, 



166 AN EVENING AT HOME. 

And words are lost in joy. " My Bertha ! let 

Me see myself again in those dear orbs. 

Have you been lonely, love ? " She raised her head. 

" You surely will not leave me so again ! 

I '11 grow as pale 's the moon, and my praised cheeks 

Will be as wet as April's, if you do." 

As, when the moon hath sleeked the blissful sea, 

A light wind wrinkles it and passes off, 

So ran a transient trouble o'er his face. 

" My Bertha ! we must leave this isle to-night. 

Thy shining face is blanked ! We will return 

Ere thrice the day, like a great bird of light 

Flees 'cross the dark, and hides it with its wings." 

"Ah, wherefore?" "Listen, I will tell you why. 

" I *ood afar upon the grassy hills. 

I saw the country, with its golden slopes, 

And woods, and streams, run down to meet the sea. 

I saw the basking ocean skinned with light. 

I saw the surf upon the distant sands 

Silent and white as snow. Above my head 

A lark was singing, 'neath a sunny cloud, 

Around the playing winds. As I went down 

There seemed a special wonder on the shore, 

Low murmuring crowds around a temple stood : 

There was a wildered music on the air, 

Which came and went, yet ever nearer grew, 



AN EVENING AT HOME. 167 

When, lo ! a train came upward from the sea 
With snowy garments, and with reverend steps. 
Full in their front a silver cross they bore, 
And this sweet hymn they strewed along the winds. 

1 Blest be this sunny morning, sweet and fair ! 

Blest be the people of this pleasant land ! 

Ye unseen larks that sing a mile in air, 

Ye waving forests, waving green and grand, 

Ye waves, that dance upon the flashing strand, 

Ye children golden-haired ! we bring, we bring 

A gospel hallowing.' 

Then one stood forth and spoke against the gods ; 

He called them ' cruel gods,' and then he said, 

* We have a Father, One who dwells serene, 

'Bove thunder and the stars, whose eye is mild, 

And ever open as the summer sky ; 

Who cares for everything on earth alike, 

Who hears the plovers crying in the wind, 

The happy linnets singing in the broom, 

Whose smile is sunshine. 5 When the old man ceased, 

Forth from the murmuring crowd there stepped a youth 

As bright-haired as a star, and cried aloud, 

' Friends ! I 've grown up among the wilds, and found 

Each outward form is but a window whence 

Terror or Beauty looks. Beauty I Ve seen 

In the sweet eyes of flowers, along the streams, 



168 AN EVENING AT HOME. 

And in the cold and crystal wells that sleep 

Far in the murmur of the summer woods ; 

Terror in fire and thunder, in the worn 

And haggard faces of the winter clouds, 

In shuddering winds, and oft on moonless nights 

I Ve heard it in the white and wailing fringe 

That runs along the coast from end to end. 

The mountains brooded on some wondrous thought 

Which they would ne'er reveal. I seemed to stand 

Outside of all things ; my desire to know 

Grew wild and eager as a starving wolf. 

To gain the secret of the awful world, 

I knelt before the gods, and then held up 

My heart to them in the pure arms of prayer, — 

They gave no answer, or had none to give. 

Friends ! I will test these sour and sullen gods : 

If they are weak, 't is well, we then may list 

Unto the strangers ; but if my affront 

Draw angry fire, I shall be slain by gods, 

And Death may have no secrets. A spear ! a steed ! ' 

A steed was brought by trembling hands, he sprang 

And dashed towards the temple with a cry. 

A shudder ran through all the pallid crowds. 

I saw him enter, and my sight grew dim, 

And on a long-suspended breath I stood, 

Till one might count a hundred beats of heart : 

Then he rode slowly forth, and, wondrous strange ! 



AN EVENING AT HOME. 169 

Although an awful gleam lay on his face, 

His charger's limbs were drenched with terror-sweat. 

Amid the anxious silence loud he cried, 

1 Gods, marvellously meek ! Why, any child 

May pluck them by the beard, spit in their face, 

Or smite them on the mouth ; they can do naught 

But sit like poor old foolish men, and moan. 

I flung my spear.' — Here, as a singing rill 

Is in the mighty noise of ocean drowned, 

His voice was swallowed in the shout that rose, 

And touched the heavens, ran along the hills, 

Thence came on after-silence, strange and dim. 

A voice rose 'mong the strangers, like a lark, 

And warbled out its joy, then died away. 

And the old man that spoke before went on, 

And, ! the gentle music of his voice 

Stirred through my heart-strings like a wind through 

reeds. 
He said, * It was God's hand that shaped the world 
And laid it in the sunbeams : ' and that ' God 
With His great presence fills the universe. 
That could we dwell like night among the stars, 
Or plunge with whales in the unsounded sea, 
He still would be around us with His care.' 
And also, ' That as flowers come back in Spring, 



170 AN EVENING AT HOME. 

We would live after Death.' I heard no more. 

I thought of thee in this delightful isle, 

Fure as a prayer, and wished that I had wings 

To tell you swiftly that the death we feared 

Was but a gray eve 'tween two shining days, 

That we would love forever ! Then I thought 

Our home might be in that transparent star 

Which we have often watched from off this verge 

Stand in the dying sunset large and clear. 

The humming world awoke me from my dream. 

I saw the old gods tumbled on the grass 

Like uncouth stones, they threw the temple wide, 

And Summer, with her bright and happy face, 

Looked in upon its gloom, and pensive grew. 

The while among the tumult of the crowds 

Divinest hymns the white-robed strangers sang. 

I wearied for thee, Bertha ! and I came. 

Wilt go and hear these strangers ? " She turned on him 

A look of love — a look that richly crowned 

A moment heavenly rich, and murmured " Yes." 

He kissed her proudly, while a giddy tear, 

Wild with its happiness, ran down her cheek 

And perished in the dew. They took their seats, 

And as the paddles struck, gray-pinioned Time 

Flew through the gates of sunset into Night, 

And held through stars to gain the coasts of Morn. 



AN EVENING AT HOME. 171 

*T is done ! The phantoms of my soul have fled 
Into the night, and I am left alone 
With that sweet sadness which doth ever dwell 
On the brink of tears ; I stare i 1 the crumbling fire, 
Which from my brooding eye takes strangest shapes. 
The Past is with me, and I scarcely hear 
Outside the w r eeping of the homeless rain. 



LADY BARBARA. 



Earl Gawain wooed the Lady Barbara, — 

High-thoughted Barbara, so white and cold ! 

'Mong broad-branched beeches in the summer shaw, 

In soft green light his passion he has told. 

When rain-beat winds did shriek across the wold, 

The Earl to take her fair reluctant ear 

Framed passion-trembled ditties manifold ; 

Silent she sat his amorous breath to hear, 

With calm and steady eyes, her heart was otherwhere. 

He sighed for her through all the summer weeks ; 
Sitting beneath a tree whose fruitful boughs 
Bore glorious apples with smooth-shining cheeks, 
Earl Gawain came and whispered, " Lady, rouse ! 
Thou art no vestal held in holy vows, 
Out with our falcons to the pleasant heath." 
Her father's blood leapt up unto her brows — 



174 LADY BARBAEA. 

He who, exulting on the trumpet's breath, 

Came charging like a star across the lists of death. 

Trembled, and passed before her high rebuke : 
And then she sat, her hands clasped round her knee : 
Like one far-thoughted was the lady's look, 
For in a morning cold as misery- 
She saw a lone ship sailing on the sea ; 
Before the north 't was driven like a cloud, 
High on the poop a man sat mournfully : 
The w T ind was whistling thorough mast and shroud, 
And to the whistling wind thus did he sing aloud : 

" Didst look last night upon my native vales, 
Thou Sun, that from the drenching sea hast clomb ? 
Ye demon winds, that glut my gaping sails, 
Upon the salt sea must I ever roam, 
Wander forever on the barren foam ? 
happy are ye, resting mariners ! 
Death, that thou wouldst come and take me home ! 
A hand unseen this vessel onward steers, 
And onward I must float through slow moon-measured 
years. 

" Ye winds ! when like a curse ye drove us on, 

Frothing the waters, and along our way, 

Nor cape, nor headland, through red mornings shone, 



LADY BARBARA. 175 

One wept aloud, one shuddered down to pray, 

One howled, ■ Upon the deep we are astray.' 

On our wild hearts his words fell like a blight : 

In one short hour my hair was stricken gray, 

For all the crew sank ghastly in my sight 

As we went driving on through the cold starry night. 

" Madness fell on me in my loneliness, 
The sea foamed curses, and the reeling sky 
Became a dreadful face which did oppress 
Me with the weight of its unwinking eye. 
It fled, when I burst forth into a cry — 
A shoal of fiends came on me from the deep, 
I hid, but in all corners they did pry, 
And dragged me forth, and round did dance and leap ; 
They mouthed on me in dream, and tore me from 
sweet sleep. 

" Strange constellations burned above my head, 
Strange birds around the vessel shrieked and flew, 
Strange shapes, like shadows, through the clear sea fled, 
As our lone ship, wide-winged, came rippling through, 
Angering to foam the smooth and sleeping blue." 
The lady sighed, " Far, far upon the sea, 
My own Sir Arthur, could I die with you ! 
The wind blows shrill between my love and me." 
Fond heart ! the space between was but the apple-tree. 



176 LADY BARBARA. 

There was a cry of joy ; with seeking hands 

She fled to him, like worn bird to her nest ; 

Like washing water on the figured sands, 

His being came and went in sweet unrest, 

As from the mighty shelter of his breast 

The Lady Barbara her head uprears 

With a wan smile, " Methinks I 'm but half blest ; 

Now when I 've found thee, after weary years, 

I cannot see thee, love ! so blind I am with tears." 



TO 



The broken moon lay in the autumn sky, 

And I lay at thy feet ; 
You bent above me ; in the silence I 

Could hear my wild heart beat. 

I spoke ; my soul was full of trembling fears 

At what my words would bring : 
You raised your face, your eyes were full of tears, 

As the sweet eyes of Spring. 

You kissed me then, I worshipped at thy feet 

Upon the shadowy sod. 
O, fool, I loved thee ! loved thee, lovely cheat ! 

Better than Fame or God. 
12 



178 to . 

My soul leaped up beneath thy timid kiss : 

What then to me were groans, 
Or pain, or death ? Earth was a round of bliss, 

I seemed to walk on thrones. 



And you were with me 'mong the rushing wheels, 

'Mid Trade's tumultuous jars ; 
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals 

Her hollow gulfs of stars. 



Before your window, as before a shrine, 
I 've knelt 'mong dew-soaked flowers, 

While distant music-bells, with voices fine, 
Measured the midnight hours. 



There came a fearful moment : I was pale, 

You wept, and never spoke, 
But clung around me as the woodbine frail 

Clings, pleading, round an oak. 

Upon my wrong I steadied up my soul, 

And flung thee from myself ; 
I spurned thy love as 't were a rich man's dole, ■ 

It was my only wealth. 



to . 179 

I spurned thee ! I, who loved thee, could have died, 

That hoped to call thee "wife," 
And bear thee, gently smiling at my side, 

Through all the shocks of life ! 

Too late, thy fatal beauty and thy tears, 

Thy vows, thy passionate breath ; 
I '11 meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres 

Made visible by Death. 



SONNETS. 



I cannot deem why men toil so for Fame. 
A porter is a porter though his load 
Be the oceaned world, and although his road 
Be down the ages. What is in a name ? 
Ah ! 't is our spirit's curse to strive and seek. 
Although its heart is rich in pearls and ores, 
The sea complains upon a thousand shores ; 
Sea-like we moan forever. We are weak. 
We ever hunger for diviner stores. 
I cannot say I have a thirsting deep 
For human fame, nor is my spirit bowed 
To be a mummy above ground to keep 
For stare and handling of the vulgar crowd, 
Defrauded of my natural rest and sleep. 



182 • SONNETS. 



There have been vast displays of critic wit 
O'er those who vainly flutter feeble wings, 
Nor rise an inch 'bove ground, — weak Poetlings ! 
And on them to the death men's brows are knit. 
Ye men ! ye critics ! seems 't so very fit 
They on a storm of laughter should be blown 
O'er the world's edge to Limbo ? Be it known, 
Ye men ! ye critics ! that beneath the sun 
The chiefest woe is this, — When all alone, 
And strong as life, a soul's great currents run 
Poesy-ward, like rivers to the sea, 
But never reach 't. Critic, let that soul moan 
In its own hell without a kick from thee. 
Kind Death, kiss gently, ease this weary one ! 



SONNETS. 183 



Joy like a stream flows through the Christmas-streets, 

But I am sitting in my silent room, 

Sitting all silent in congenial gloom. 

To-night, while half the world the other greets 

With smiles and grasping hands and drinks and meats, 

I sit and muse on my poetic doom ; 

Like the dim scent within a budded rose, 

A joy is folded in my heart ; and when 

I think on Poets nurtured 'mong the throes, 

And by the lowly hearths of common men, — 

Think of their works, some song, some swelling ode 

With gorgeous music growing to a close, 

Deep-muffled as the dead -march of a god, — 

My heart is burning to be one of those. 



184 SONNETS. 



Beauty still walketh on the earth and air ; 

Our present sunsets are as rich in gold 

As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled ; 

The roses of the Spring are ever fair, 

'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair 

And the deep sea still foams its music old. 

So, if we are at all divinely souled, 

This beauty will unloose our bonds of care. 

'T is pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending 

Within old starry-gated Poesy, 

To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, 

Like thine, sweet Friend ! 0, dearer this to me 

Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, 

Or noble music with a golden ending. 



SONNETS, 185 



Last night my cheek was wetted with warm tears, 
Each worth a world. They fell from eyes divine. 
Last night a loving lip was pressed to mine, 
And at its touch tied all the barren years ; 
And softly couched upon a bosom white, 
Which came and went beneath me like a sea, 
An emperor I lay in empire bright, 
Lord of the beating heart, while tenderly 
Love-words were glutting my love-greedy ears. 
Kind Love, I thank thee for that happy night ! 
Richer this cheek with those warm tears of thine 
Than the vast midnight with its gleaming spheres. 
Leander toiling through the midnight brine, 
Kingdomless Antony, were scarce my peers. 



1S6 SONNETS. 



I wrote a Name upon the river sands, 
With her who bore it standing by my side, 
Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride, 
And leaning on my arm with clasped hands. 
To burning words of mine she thus replied : 
" Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail 

eth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands 

. scarce confine these limbs." I turned love-pale, 
I gazed upon the rivered landscape wide, 
And thought how little it would all avail 
Without her love. 'T was on a morn of May ; 
Within a month I stood upon the sand, 
Gone was the name I traced with trembling hand, — 
And from my heart 't was also gone away. 



SONNETS. 187 



Like clouds or streams we wandered on at will, 

Three glorious days, till, near our journey's end, 

As down the moorland road we straight did wend, 

To Wordsworth's " Inversneyd," talking to kill 

The cold and cheerless drizzle in the air, 

'Bove me I saw, at pointing of my friend, 

An old Fort like a ghost upon the hill, 

Stare in blank misery through the blinding ram 

So human-like it seemed in its despair — 

So stunned with grief — long gazed at it we twain. 

Weary and damp we reached our poor abode ; 

I, warmly seated in the chimney-nook, 

Still saw that old Fort o'er the moorland road 

Stare through the rain with strange woe-w T ildered look. 



188 SONNETS. 



Sheathed is the river as it glideth by, 
Frost-pearled are all the boughs in forests old, 
The sheep are huddling close upon the wold, 
And over them the stars tremble on high. 
Pure joys these winter nights around me lie : 
'T is fine to loiter through the lighted streets 
At Christmas time, and guess from brow and pace 
The doom and history of each one we meet, 
What kind of heart beats in each dusky case ; 
Whiles startled by the beauty of a face 
In a shop-light a moment. Or instead, 
To dream of silent fields where calm and deep 
The sunshine lieth like a golden sleep — 
Eecalling sweetest looks of Summers dead. 



NOTICES FROM THE LONDON PRESS. 



Most abundant in beauties. Our extracts, which have been 
chosen chiefly to illustrate our account of the poem, have scarcely 
shown the poet at his best. Everywhere his poem has lines and 
phrases revealing a wealth of poetical thought and expression. — 
Athenaeum. 

Since Tennyson, no poet has come before the public with the 

same promise as the author of this volume There are many 

lines and sentences in these poems which must become familiar on 
the lips of lovers of poetry. — Literary Gazette. 

It is to the earlier works of Keats and Shelley alone that we can 
look for a counterpart, in richness of fancy and force of expression. 
.... These extracts will induce every lover of true poetry to read 
the volume for himself ; we do not think that, after such reading, 
any one will be disposed to doubt that Alexander Smith promises to 
be a greater poet than any emergent genius of the last few years. — 
Spectator, 

The most striking characteristic of these poems is their abundant 
imagery, — fresh, vivid, concrete images actually present to the 
poet's mind, and thrown out with a distinctiveness and a delicacy 
only poets can achieve. There is not a page of this volume on which 
we cannot find some novel image, some Shaksperian felicity of ex- 
pression, or some striking simile. — Westminster Review, 



190 NOTICES FROM THE LONDON PRESS. 

Mr. Smith lias given noble proof of possessing some of the be; + 
attributes of the true poet. One of his special characteristics is a 
luxuriant imagination, which continually suggests poetical images, 
and is happily allied to a singular mastery of language in one so 
young, which enables him to apply them with almost intuitive 
felicity. Nearly every page is studded with striking metaphors. — 
Sunday Times, 

It is seldom that a new work is met with which furnishes such 
incontestable evidence of the possession of great powers by the 
author as the present. It is impossible to read three consecutive 
pages without feeling in the presence of a spirit moved with a pro- 
found sense of all forms of spiritual beauty. Mr. Smith's language 
is, in the purest sense of the word, poetic, — that is, ft is not only 
the very best for the expression of the idea, but is suggestive, — it 
summons up all the accessories to the idea. It is strong and splen- 
did, like golden armor. — Daily News. 

We have quoted enough, and yet we have not quoted a third of 
the fine passages our pencil has marked. Having read these ex- 
tracts, turn to any poet you will, and compare the texture of the 
composition, — it is a severe test, but you will find that Alexander 
Smith bears it well. — Leader, 







it *&^ -life ^ i 










^ r 



N\ ><9> /Jo <-VA ~\> 3r N\>?W /in 



fa ~ ^ OJ 



A %. y o* x "* A 



<% vV 












X 

^ 



* ^ A* 




<t 



*%* o • x * - - A ^ ' o * x "• A 

A x **■*•, °o £> * x 



^ 









,o 



S>M 






r\. 



